


Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.: The Asset

by patchfire, raving_liberal



Series: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.: The Asset [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Glee, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. Spoilers, Alternate Universe, Assets & Handlers, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Car Chases, Crossover, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Gun Violence, Gunshot Wounds, M/M, Marvel Universe, Past Finn Hudson/Other(s), Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Sexual Fantasy, Shooting Guns, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-12 14:34:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 54,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2113560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patchfire/pseuds/patchfire, https://archiveofourown.org/users/raving_liberal/pseuds/raving_liberal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Assigned to the S.H.I.E.L.D. hard-copy data repository—The Shoebox—for the last three years as its lone staffer, Agent Hummel wasn't prepared for the addition of one Specialist Noah Puckerman. He was even less prepared for the infiltration of S.H.I.E.L.D. and the subsequent rocketing of Agents Hummel and Puckerman into field work, with a vague assignment from Agent Melinda May: protect the asset. The problem is that Asset 309C-FCH [Codename: "Feels"] doesn’t even know he’s an asset.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For the 2014 Puckurt Big Bang
> 
> Art by mapgirl, edited by david-of-oz

**[Agent K. Hummel, S.H.I.E.L.D. Site 237C, Report 115A, 0800 Hours]**

_Another quiet morning in the Shoebox. Zero contact. All systems fully operational. Running low on fresh fruit; expedited cargo drop would be appreciated. Maintain that Specialist Puckerman’s presence at this location continues to be extraneous. Please advise re: potential relocation date. Perhaps agent could depart with cargo drop?_

**[End Transmission]**

 

Puck grins to himself when he hears footsteps, very faintly, at the end of the hall, and he quickly closes the file he’s reading. The internal memos of S.H.I.E.L.D. in 1956 are fascinating, but they’ll keep. He slides the file into the drawer—in the proper place, no matter what _Agent Hummel, please_ says—and quickly heads towards the cracked door, ready to time his emergence perfectly with _Agent Hummel’s_ approach. 

Footsteps almost even with Puck’s position, he grabs the handle of the door, swinging it just wide enough for him to walk through, and he grins widely. “’Morning, Kurt,” he says cheerfully. 

“I hope you at least put them back where they belong this time,” Kurt says with a loud huff. “I found ‘Cavender, Nigella’ stuck in the ‘N’ section last week.”

“You know I have trouble with alphabetization,” Puck says, still grinning almost innocently at Kurt while he internally congratulates himself on that particular purposeful misplacement. “Sometimes I lose track of time and have to hurry so I keep to my self-imposed maintenance schedule, you know.” 

“How wonderful for you,” Kurt says, turning away from Puck and heading in the direction of the break room, with its top-of-the-line Keurig and coffee pods that never seem to run out. Puck suspects that they’re the real reason for the regular ‘supply’ drops.

“You’re still welcome to join me,” Puck offers, like he does every day. “Even if you don’t want to lift, you could run with me. Or vice versa.” 

“No thank you.” Kurt’s reply is brisk, and he doesn’t turn back around or stop walking. “I prefer the schedule I’ve kept for the last _three years_.”

“Do you even remember how to clean your piece?” Puck asks. “I know you don’t carry it, so asking if you can fire it is probably too much.”

“I’m perfectly proficient at firearms. Top marks,” Kurt calls back before rounding the corner. 

“Yeah, maybe in 2008!” Puck yells after him, shaking his head. Kurt doesn’t respond, and Puck shakes his head, tsking loudly just in case Kurt is still listening. He really does have a planned workout, along with various other tasks to keep up his training, but the bullshit about what time it starts is just that—bullshit. Puck takes off his t-shirt as he enters the workout area, deciding to lift before he runs. Maybe after doing those, he’ll do some target practice, timing it just right to coincide with _Agent Hummel’s_ afternoon ‘work period’. 

 

**[Agent K. Hummel, S.H.I.E.L.D. Site 237C, Report 118B, 2000 Hours]**

_Cargo drop received. Manifest signed off and yellow copy included with outgoing packages. Noted lack of transfer orders for Specialist Puckerman; subsequent drop, perhaps? Zero contact. All systems fully operational. Slight lag in video feed from quadrant 7 determined to be squirrel-related. Damage repaired and video feed up and running smoothly. The same cannot be said for the squirrel._

**[End Transmission]**


	2. Chapter 2

“Find any new assets?” Puck asks as soon as he walks into the breakroom, poking through the freezer in search of something that isn’t vegetarian or beef. He likes beef fine, but he wants some chicken for dinner. Finally grabbing something that promises grilled chicken, he starts it warming up before turning to Kurt with his eyebrows raised. “Well?”

“My job isn’t to locate _new_ assets,” Kurt says, dabbing at his lips with a napkin and continuing to look at the manilla folder spread open on the table beside his plate. “It’s to datamine the files we already have.”

“Uh-huh,” Puck says skeptically. “I thought that was why we have all those huge mainframes. Computers datamine.” 

“Not as well as I do,” Kurt answers.

“If you’re a computer, that might explain a lot, actually,” Puck says, glaring at the microwave. “We have all this tech, and it still takes us just as long to warm up a microwave meal as everyone else. Why is that, _Agent Hummel_?”

“Attempts to the contrary yielded an unusually high rate of oral cancer in the agents using the MacroMicroWave,” Kurt says, turning a page and not looking up at Puck. “I could see if we can get you one of the decommissioned prototypes. It’s _your_ mouth, after all.”

“I might take my chances,” Puck says with a slow nod. “Cancer’s a long-term result, you know. I can worry about it in twenty years.” 

“It caused sterility, too,” Kurt says, almost blandly. 

“As long as it wasn’t impotence,” Puck shoots back. “Do I look worried about carrying on the Puckerman line?” Puck watches Kurt carefully, trying to get a little more of a rise than just the standard comebacks. 

“Double orchiectomy.”

“Wow. The… what did you call it? MacroMicroWave? Is truly a horrific device.” The regular microwave beeps and Puck pulls out his grilled chicken, which appears to have some kind of grain and some squash with it. “Probably didn’t start out in S.H.I.E.L.D., though, or it would have been an acronym.” 

Puck sits down across from Kurt, putting his food just close enough to the edge of Kurt’s papers that he knows it’ll annoy him, and starts eating. 

Kurt sighs and turns another page, his eyes moving rapidly across the text. “Multi-Ambular Circuit-Rerouted Orthometric MicroWave,” he rattles off, sounding bored.

“Uh-huh.” Puck takes another bite and tries to read upside down. “What’re you working on? Is that a list of assets around here?” 

“Proximity isn’t a necessity.”

“So it is a list of assets?” Puck takes another bite and reaches out with his other hand, trying to turn the paper towards him. “Current, I mean. Not one of those lists from ’85 in the storerooms.” 

Kurt swats Puck’s hand. “Please don’t touch the files with your greasy fingers,” he says. “And yes, this file came in with the last cargo drop. May I continue reading it in peace, please?”

“It’s dinnertime, Kurt,” Puck says. “You should be eating one of your disgusting eggplant dinners.” 

“In case you haven’t noticed, this isn’t an eight-hour-day job,” Kurt says. 

“Did you finally get sick of the eggplant? ’Cause I would,” Puck says gravely. 

“The eggplant is a safer option than the meat,” Kurt says. “Or should I say, ‘meat’,” he corrects himself, using air quotes. “I’ve seen some of the files on the dinners, too.”

“Huh.” Puck glances at his chicken and decides that maybe he should look at those files, too—without letting Kurt know about it. “Any potential assets in that new file? You know I’m just going to go behind you and read it next week.” 

“Another self-professed psychic who can’t so much as predict the rain as the clouds roll in overhead, a potential telekinetic who managed to move a pencil exactly one-point-five millimeters, a very interesting young man who seems to be able to influence the emotions of those around him,” Kurt lists off. He slides the file he’s reading over to Puck. “Here.”

Puck glances down the page. “Asset 309C-FCH. Teacher of the Year. Yeah, okay, I guess that makes sense. He sounds a lot more interesting than the not-really-a-telekinetic, anyway.” Puck keeps scanning the information in the file as he talks. “If you could be a super, what would you want to be able to do?” 

“Bubble of silence,” Kurt answers immediately. 

“Metal manipulation,” Puck counters. “This guy definitely isn’t a threat. He sounds like he practically makes his entire town paint rainbows.” 

“Yes, I’m not really sure what the practical application could be for S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Kurt admits. “A nice change from all the faux psychics, though, isn’t it?”

“He probably doesn’t even realize he’s doing it,” Puck says with a shake of his head. “He’ll have this charmed life and never know.” He pushes the file back towards Kurt. “Theoretical physics isn’t my thing, no.” He eats a few more bites of his food before speaking again. “You want to join me for some hand-to-hand practice?” he asks, even though he would bet a lot of money on Kurt turning him down, just like he has plenty of times before. 

“I still have a dozen of these files to look through before the twenty-hundred systems check,” Kurt says. “Please, feel free to practice hand-to-hand on yourself, however.”

Puck snorts and rolls his eyes as he stands, tossing his trash away and putting the fork in the small dishwasher. “Unless you’re suddenly a lot more friendly, I think that’s my only option, isn’t it?” he calls over his shoulder as he leaves the room. Kurt nods, almost like he’s not even listening, and keeps reading, and Puck shakes his head. Downside of the Shoebox, Puck figures. No other company. 

 

**[Agent K. Hummel, S.H.I.E.L.D. Site 237C, Report 123A-1, 0930 Hours]**

_In receipt of anomalous transmission of directives. Suggest that transmission was misdirected to site 237C by mistake. Forwarding transmission and awaiting further instructions._

**[End Transmission]**

**[Agent K. Hummel, S.H.I.E.L.D. Site 237C, Report 123B, 2000 Hours]**

_All systems fully operational. Still awaiting further instructions._

**[End Transmission]**

**[Agent K. Hummel, S.H.I.E.L.D. Site 237C, Report 123B-1, 2230 Hours]**

_Please confirm transmission receipt._

**[End Transmission]**

**[Agent K. Hummel, S.H.I.E.L.D. Site 237C, Report 123B-2, 2354 Hours]**

_Hello?_

**[End Transmission]**


	3. Chapter 3

The lights in the Shoebox dim automatically in approximations of nighttime versus daylight, but there’s still plenty of light for Puck to see by as he shuffles down the hallway sometime around 3 am. He’s curious, because Kurt’s acting even weirder than usual, not even being around to snap at Puck for reading about the supers that turned up at Woodstock. When Puck gets to the breakroom, he can make out Kurt slumped over the table, a cup of coffee nearby and at least ten discarded pods from the Keurig that weren’t there the last time Puck was in the breakroom.

Puck considers leaving Kurt there, and he considers just throwing a blanket over him, but in the end, Puck knows he’d want to _not_ sleep at that angle, so he stands over Kurt and puts a hand on his shoulder. “Kurt. Wake up.” 

Kurt’s head snaps up, his eyes opening and rapidly scanning the room. “Did I miss the alert? Did we get a transmission?”

“It’s the middle of the night and you’re asleep in the breakroom,” Puck says. “Get up and go to a real bed.” 

“Gotta stay up and wait,” Kurt mumbles, his head starting to fall forward again as his eyelids droop closed. 

“Wait on what?” Puck says, shaking his hand on Kurt’s shoulder a little. 

Kurt’s eyes pop open again. “Return transmission. Nobody responded to the oh-eight-hundred.” He yawns. “Or the twenty-hundred. Or the two after that.”

Puck frowns. “No reply at all? Regardless of clearance level?” 

“Nothing. It’s not usually a long reply, but I always get a confirmation,” Kurt says, “but nothing this time.”

“Yeah, that is strange,” Puck concedes, sitting down at the table. “Did you check CNN and everything? Maybe it’s just a communications glitch for everyone.” 

“Nothing on the news. I checked CNN, Al Jazeera, even the tabloid feeds, but there’s nothing,” Kurt says. 

“You know anyone stationed somewhere else? I know people at the Hub, but with the time difference…” 

“I did send a message directly to one of my former classmates from the academy, but she’s sta—”

There’s a loud beeping before Kurt can finish saying where his classmate is stationed, and Puck turns to Kurt. “Transmission alert?” 

Kurt nods vigorously, standing so fast he almost pitches forward. “My office,” he says, reeling towards the door. Puck follows him without responding, because why waste the time on that. The lights come up gradually as they head towards Kurt’s office, and Puck mentally groans: that probably means no more sleep. 

Kurt sits down in front of his desk and bangs a few buttons on a control panel to the left. A screen drops down from the ceiling, flashing red, then dims to the Agency logo as Kurt types something, presumably his login information. The S.H.I.E.L.D. logo is replaced by what looks like a simple messaging program, white text on a dark background. 

The transmission is only five words long: _Fury dead. Await further instructions._

“The system got hacked,” Puck says flatly. 

Kurt stares at the screen a little too long before shaking his head. “You’re right. That can’t be correct.” He opens a desk drawer and pulls out a small, black, nondescript laptop. After it boots, Kurt goes through several series of logins before finally nodding to himself. “Here we go. This should clear everything— oh.”

“Oh? What do you mean?” Puck demands. “If Fury was dead, that’d be major news. Check CNN again.” 

“It says the same thing,” Kurt says. “It couldn’t have been hacked. I’m in the direct access network. It runs straight off the S.H.I.E.L.D. mainframe. It’s for emergencies only, and it has a dozen different security protocols to go through just to have read access.”

“Fury can’t be dead. C’mon, it had to be hacked. CNN’ll have a story about that.” 

Kurt types into his keyboard, and the drop-down screen changes from the transmission window to CNN. The reporter spends an unreasonable amount of time talking about the president’s upcoming trade meeting with Mexico, before cutting to another reported in Washington.

“Police have still not issued a statement on the violent multi-vehicle pursuit that rampaged through the heart of downtown D.C. earlier today,” the reported says. She appears to be on scene, her backdrop a mess of snarled cars, bent traffic signs, and smashed concrete barriers, all surrounded by orange traffic cones and bright yellow police tape. 

“Probably a couple of congressmen arguing,” Puck says, rolling his eyes. “See, CNN doesn’t have it.” 

“Do you want me to check Al Jazeera?”

“Yeah, let’s double-check this shit.” 

“Fine,” Kurt says, switching the screen to Al Jazeera America. 

“No, the real one,” Puck says, shaking his head. 

“It’s the same news,” Kurt insists. “I don’t speak Arabic.”

“Yeah, but I do, so go to the real one,” Puck says. “And it’s not always the same.” 

“Fine,” Kurt says again, switching to Al Jazeera. 

Puck listens to the broadcast, frowning when he hears a phrase that essentially means ‘the rumored death of Director Fury’. Al Jazeera’s worried about the Avengers not being held in check and interfering in international affairs, but they admit that it’s a rumor and that there is a lot of conflicting information. 

“Shit,” Puck finally says softly, taking a step back. 

“What did they say?” Kurt asks. “Was the S.H.I.E.L.D. system hacked?”

“Rumors,” Puck says. “It’s rumored, not confirmed. How the hell did this happen? _Fury_?” 

“It’s hard to wrap my mind around,” Kurt says. 

“What the fuck am I supposed to do now?” Puck mutters, feeling a little like he should punch something—preferably whoever killed Fury, because there’s no way the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. goes out in a freak accident or similar. 

“The same thing I do,” Kurt says, peering at Puck with his eyes slightly narrowed and his mouth twisted into a confused line. “We keep our post and continue our assigned tasks.”

“Uh.” Puck shifts a little. “That’s… my assigned tasks came straight _from_ Fury,” he admits. Now that Fury’s dead, Puck thinks it probably doesn’t matter if Kurt knows. It’s not like Kurt’s going to be spreading the news to all the other non-existent people at the Shoebox.

“I’m sure they’ll send you updated orders once everything gets sorted out at the Triskelion,” Kurt says. “For now, I guess you keep doing what you’ve been doing since you got here, which thus far has appeared to be rifling through old files and augmenting your admittedly-impressive abs.”

“Who’s going to send these updated orders?” Puck asks with a frown. “And I knew you noticed my abs.” 

“Well, you show them off enough,” Kurt mutters, starting to type again. The Al Jazeera broadcast disappears, replaced by the transmission window again. Puck watches Kurt type _Transmission received. Agents Hummel and Puckerman awaiting further orders. Please advise on updated protocol._ “Nothing else we can do now. I imagine Agent Hill will end up stepping into Director Fury’s place, at least in the interim. That seems to be the most likely scenario.”

“Well, yeah, that makes the most sense, but that doesn’t mean she knows what Fury’s orders are. Haven’t you heard him talk about how important it is to compartmentalize information?” Puck asks. 

“Oh, I’ve never met the director personally,” Kurt says.

Puck frowns, suddenly realizing there’s no chance Kurt ever _will_ meet Fury. “I wasn’t at the Triskelion long,” he offers. “Spent more time at the Hub. Longest I was on a single assignment, before here, was in the field, though.” 

“People with my skill set don’t generally put in a great deal of field time,” Kurt says. “I did a brief stint at the Hub myself, then three short assignments at other peripheral sites, then back to the academy for advanced training and certification. I’ve been here ever since.”

“If you’re really better than a computer, I bet there’s some situations in the field you really would come in handy,” Puck says thoughtfully. “Guess I keep waiting, anyway.” 

“That’s mostly the assignment here, anyway,” Kurt says. “I guess we should try to get some sleep. My next transmission time is oh-eight-hundred.”

“You really think they’ll keep to schedule?” Puck asks, but he starts moving towards the door, because another hour or two of sleep doesn’t sound like the worst idea. 

“It doesn’t matter if they do or not,” Kurt says, shrugging.

“I guess it’ll tell us something about how much of a contingency plan was set up,” Puck says. “Can you reset the lights to dim?” 

“They’ll dim again within five minutes of my system going inactive,” Kurt says. He presses a button, and the screen retracts into the ceiling. 

“’Night, then,” Puck says, leaving Kurt’s office and heading down the hall with one hand running absently through his hair. Maybe in the morning it’ll turn out to be a bizarre nightmare. The reality of Director Fury being dead seems unbelievable at best, and Puck pulls his pillow over his head after he flops back onto his bed. 

 

**[Agent K. Hummel, S.H.I.E.L.D. Site 237C, Report 127A, 0800 Hours]**

_Zero contact. All systems fully operational. Agents Hummel and Puckerman waiting further instructions._

**[End Transmission]**

**[Agent K. Hummel, S.H.I.E.L.D. Site 237C, Report 127A-1, 0842 Hours]**

_Received return transmission, but appears to be garbled or possible encoded. Please clarify? If intended for Specialist Puckerman, he can be reached directly via subline 7B-24Z._

**[End Transmission]**


	4. Chapter 4

Puck loses track of time and days, just a little. He’s always enjoyed looking online at what people are saying about S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Avengers; now he _really_ wants to know. He sleeps less and in shorter spurts, but he keeps up his workout routine, his practice routines, and his usual habit of going through the files, because it’s probably better if Kurt doesn’t go into some kind of panic mode. More than anything, Puck still finds it hard to believe that, out of everyone with S.H.I.E.L.D., it’s Fury who is dead. Fury who gave Puck his admittedly slightly cryptic assignment, Fury who had seemed to have everything so under control and well-managed.

Puck really isn’t sure how S.H.I.E.L.D. will hold it together in the wake of his now-confirmed death. 

The lights and his stomach tell Puck it's time for lunch, and he pulls out a sandwich before sitting down across from Kurt. "Sure you don't want to join me for target practice?"

Kurt looks up from his lunch—some kind of steamed fish of unknown species—and the file he’s annotating with a small digital device, looking startled. “Oh! Hello, Agent Puckerman.”

“I’m quiet, but not that quiet,” Puck says with a laugh. “Let me guess, you were recruited for your ability to hyperfocus?” 

“In part,” Kurt says. “Did you need something?”

“It’s lunchtime, we still don’t know what’s really going on, and I figured maybe now you’d want to do some firearms review,” Puck says, taking a bite of his sandwich and wrinkling his nose, because he’d thought it was chicken, not tuna. 

“It _has_ been a while,” Kurt admits. “Can I finish reviewing this file first?”

Puck finishes chewing before answering, because he’s more polite than he thinks Kurt gives him credit for. “What’s more likely to happen, that you need to use your piece, or that someone comes to scold you for not finishing reviewing the file by fourteen hundred hours instead of fifteen hundred?” 

“In these uncertain times, it’s even more important that I don’t miss any details,” Kurt says. 

“You sound like a public service ann—” Puck breaks off as his phone trills, and he frowns. “Announcement,” he continues, only to have his phone trill again and again, and he sets down his sandwich to look at it. “What in the—” he starts to say, because he sees why it alerted him, sort of. Not just ‘#shield’, but ‘#shieldsecrets’, and as he glances at all the data and trending alerts coming in, he notices another one paired with it: ‘#hailhydra’. “Oh, fuck,” Puck whispers. 

“What? What’s happening?” Kurt asks. 

“Shit’s going down,” Puck answers, still looking at his phone, and then Kurt’s transmission alarm goes off.

“I need to get that!” Kurt says, standing quickly and pushing his chair back from the table. Before he can even leave the breakroom, however, another alarm starts to sound, louder and more jarring, and red and white lights flash in the breakroom and up the hall. 

“What does that one mean?” Puck asks warily, standing up and putting his hand to his hip, suddenly glad he’s by-the-book enough to carry whenever he’s on duty, no matter how isolated the assignment. 

“I— I don’t know!” Kurt says, paling. “I haven’t heard that one before. That wasn’t in my orientation packet!” 

While the lights are still flashing, Puck can hear a metal clanking start, followed immediately by the whirr of an extremely large fan or fans. “Let’s go,” he says, nodding towards the door. “And on the way to your office, you can tell me how you feel about a few things.” As crazy as it sounds, what he’s scanned on his phone makes him think that somehow Hydra not only survived after the Nazis fell, but is intertwined with S.H.I.E.L.D., infiltrating them at all levels, and Puck isn’t sure what to think or if he should even trust Kurt. 

“Just let me—” Kurt rushes into his office, lowering the ceiling screen, which is also flashing red. After a few quick keystrokes, the message appears on the screen: _S.H.I.E.L.D. COMPROMISED. AWAIT INSTRUCTION. TRUST NO ONE._

“Oh my god,” Kurt says. “Oh my god, none of this was covered in the orientation packet!”

“What do you know about Hydra?” Puck blurts out, even though he’s pretty sure that’s not the most covert way to find out about a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent’s actual loyalties. 

“An extreme Nazi off-shoot during World War II,” Kurt says offhandedly, rapidly typing something into the system. “Foundations of S.H.I.E.L.D. We covered it in academy. Everyone does.”

“And today?” Puck says, looking back at his phone. “You need to go to a link for me.” 

Kurt waves dismissively at Puck. “In a minute. There’s a huge file coming across.”

“Yeah, and if I’m reading this right, that file is pretty much every secret S.H.I.E.L.D. has ever kept,” Puck grinds out. “Including how we’ve been pretty damn well infiltrated by Hydra, so let’s find out just how bad this is, and whether or not I can trust you.”

“Hydra? That’s ridiculous,” Kurt says, typing even more. Suddenly the drop-down screen is filled with a web of files, telescoping out into more files, with images and text flashing intermittently. “Oh my god,” Kurt says again, his voice breathier and higher-pitched. “S.H.I.E.L.D. has been infiltrated by Hydra.”

“Is there _anything_ stored here electronically that isn’t going to have been in that info dump?” Puck demands. “If there is, lock it down, now.” 

“I don’t think I have to,” Kurt says. “The entire facility has gone into automatic lockdown mode. I couldn’t transfer information out of here if I wanted to. See?” He presses a button, which causes an error message and then the S.H.I.E.L.D. logo to flash across the screen. 

“How do I know I can trust you?” Puck says. “Shit, interrogation isn’t one of my strengths.” 

“Of course you can trust me! And being interrogated isn’t one of _my_ strengths!” Kurt says. “How do I know I can trust _you_?” He stands up and slowly backs away from he seat, edging towards the door. 

“I’d be one of the biggest idiots ever to fall for neo-Nazi shit,” Puck says, rolling his eyes. “You, though. _Hummel_. Isn’t that German?” 

“German in the eighteen-hundreds!” Kurt says. “We’ve been here for eight generations!”

“Huh.” Puck still doesn’t reach for his gun, but he feels weirdly more alert than he has since he arrived at the Shoebox. “Someone comes in here, says they’re Hydra and they need you to turn over some files, what’s your plan?” Puck asks. “Because it sounds like that’s a possibility right now.” 

“I don’t imagine politely declining would work?” Kurt offers.

“I’m thinking that since they’re Nazis, no, probably not,” Puck scoffs. “We have to figure out what we’re going to do. I think this means the ‘waiting’ part of Fury’s orders is over.” 

“But the last transmission said ‘await’,” Kurt protests. “We should await!”

“Who sent that?” Puck says, shaking his head. “Fury’s dead, S.H.I.E.L.D. is compromised, so unless Captain America himself comes here and tells me to wait, I’m done with the waiting.” 

“I’m checking the secure line,” Kurt says firmly, sitting back down at his desk and opening the drawer containing the small black laptop. After booting it up and going through the layers and layers of security, Kurt exclaims a quiet, “Ha!”

“Did Captain America send you an email?” Puck asks. 

“Close enough for government work,” Kurt says, then titters to himself quietly. “Agent May.”

“The Cavalry?” Puck says. “What’s she say?” 

“It just says ‘Protect the asset. Keep him from Hydra.’,” Kurt says. “Which one do you think she means?”

“Probably not the faux-telepath,” Puck says flatly. “We’ll leave at oh-five-hundred hours tomorrow. Figure it out by then, and we’ll prep this place for abandonment.” 

“You mean… _field work_?” Kurt asks in a strangled voice. 

“Protecting and keeping is field work, yeah,” Puck says. “Come on. We have to get a full eight hours before we leave, too.” 

“But I don’t even know what asset she’s talking about!” Kurt insists. “How am I supposed to figure that out before oh-five-hundred?”

“You said you were better than a computer,” Puck points out. “Now’s your chance to prove it. Prove you’re not Hydra, too.” 

Kurt sighs loudly. “Then I guess you should go get your eight hours. I’m going to be reviewing the last few batches of files.”

“There’s a lot of records to secure first,” Puck says, shaking his head. “And what we can’t secure that involves people still alive, we may have to destroy. What if Hydra got ahold of some of this?” 

“But most of the files here are nobodies,” Kurt says. “Fake psychics, people with only the most minimal of powers. Anybody dangerous is in lockdown, and anybody beneficial is already in use!”

“And then there’s people like the guy with Alzheimer’s who can start fires,” Puck counters. “Even at eighty-nine, Hydra might think he’s an asset.” 

“Do you really think Vernon Jorgensen is the asset Agent May means?” Kurt asks. “He has three agents stationed at his nursing home, and hasn’t had a flare-up in over seven years.”

“ _No_ , Agent Hummel,” Puck says forcefully. “And that’s why you are going to figure out who The Cavalry wants us to protect, and I’m going to protect the rest of them as best as I can before we leave.” 

“I’m not even sure we _can_ leave,” Kurt admits.

“Find our asset,” Puck says. “I’ll find our way out.” 

 

**[Agent K. Hummel, S.H.I.E.L.D. Site 237C, Report 128A-2, 1330 Hours]**

**_Sent via secure channel._ **

Agent Puckerman securing facility. Agent Hummel locating asset. Will attempt contact when it seems prudent. Best of luck, Agents.

**[End Transmission]**


	5. Chapter 5

Puck spends his afternoon doing exactly what he’s been pretending to do the entire time he’s been stationed at the Shoebox: misfiling things. Not everything, but enough for it to look random and to help hide the still-living assets. He locks the doors from the inside in each storeroom, moving the file cabinets against the doors before leaving through the air ventilation shafts.

It’s when he’s in the second ventilation shaft that he realizes he’s already found their way out of the Shoebox, and he starts making a mental list of what they’ll need to take or destroy. Puck finishes with the last storeroom around seventeen hundred hours, and he has a single file box’s worth of files that seem too sensitive to leave but not important enough to carry with them. He leaves the box on his bed, then heads towards the armory. It isn’t well-stocked, but Puck doesn’t want to leave anything behind if he can help it. Afternoon snack is eaten while he works on their packs, and at nineteen-hundred-thirty hours, Puck reheats one eggplant dinner and one beef dinner before going to Kurt’s office. 

“Eat,” he says firmly. “We have to sleep soon.” 

“I think I’ve found something useful,” Kurt says.

“A Hydra-detector test?” Puck asks hopefully. 

“No,” Kurt says. “And not the asset, either. I did, however, review the emergency protocols in the orientation packet, and while what’s outlined there is minimal at best, ‘in case of fire’ type information, I _did_ notice a thirteen-digit code. I had assumed it was some kind of reference number, maybe it got left in the packet while it was being assembled, but on an impulse, I tried entering it into the system.”

“Secret files?” Puck guesses. “Another message from someone we can actually trust?” 

“A key!” Kurt says, holding up a small metal key. “It opens the bottom file cabinet in my desk, the one I couldn’t pry open. And inside…” Kurt slides the drawer open and gestures at its contents. “Satellite phones, netbook, several wads of cash in a few different currencies, and this.” He reaches in and pulls out a keyfob with another key attached, grinning at Puck. 

“Oh, thank god,” Puck says. “My own cash stash wasn’t going to get us very far or get us a very good set of wheels.” 

“Granted, we don’t know where this vehicle is or what type,” Kurt says.

“Netbook looks pretty recent, so probably the entire drawer is kept current,” Puck speculates. “I can get us out of here. We’ll orient ourselves and figure out where to look as soon as we’re looking at moonlight and not dimmer-light.” 

“But I haven’t figured out which asset yet,” Kurt says. “I’ve been over and over the most recent batch of files, but if the information transmitted earlier is true, there’s nothing here that Hydra couldn’t access already through the Fridge. The best weapons, the worst criminals. What do we have? Failed mind-readers, the elderly, a few individuals who are only a step or two above charlatans, a woman who can talk to cats, and a kindergarten teacher who makes everybody happy.”

“I’ve always suspected cats were evil,” Puck says semi-seriously. He looks up at Kurt to see if Kurt appreciates the attempt at levity or not, but Kurt looks like he’s just figured something out, and Puck mentally crosses his fingers that it’s which asset they need to find and keep safe. “What is it?” 

“A kindergarten teacher who makes everybody happy,” Kurt repeats. “Why are they happy?”

“Because the teacher is happy,” Puck answers. 

“What happens when the teacher gets sad? Or scared?”

Puck exhales. “Or angry?” 

“And how useful could that be? Being able to make someone afraid or angry?” Kurt prompts. “Who could that be used against?”

“Is there anyone it _couldn’t_ be— oh, fuck me. Bruce Banner. Shit.” Puck shakes his head. “And here I was more worried about the ones that were under deep cover.” 

“Asset 309C-FCH. I think we’re taking a trip to Ohio,” Kurt says. “Oh-five-hundred, you said?”

“Your pack’s already packed. There’s MREs on top for breakfast. Meet me in the breakroom at oh-five-hundred,” Puck says. “I can’t say Ohio was on my list of places to visit, but Ohio it is. And wear your vest.” 

“I don’t think Ohio’s on anybody’s list of places to visit,” Kurt says wryly. “I’m going to try to get some sleep. See you at oh-five-hundred.”

Puck nods at that, because Kurt’s probably right, and heads back to his room. He gives it a second once-over, then strips and falls onto his bed, alarm already set. When he wakes up at oh-four-hundred, he strips the bed, gets dressed, straps his backup to his vest, double-checks his pack, and then puts the rest of his personal effects on top of the file box that still needs to be burned. He leaves the door open, like no one was assigned to the room, and double-checks each storeroom before heading down the hall to the breakroom.

Even though it’s only oh-four-hundred-thirty hours, Kurt is already in the breakroom, and Puck puts the filebox on the steel table with a thud. “Anything you need to burn?” 

“Burn?” Kurt asks. “I don’t know. What things should I burn?”

“Personal effects that you aren’t taking, any remaining files that we can’t hide but don’t need to keep,” Puck lists off. “Figured if we did it in here, the sprinkler system would put it out before it spread.” 

“I don’t really have many personal effects,” Kurt says. 

Puck shrugs. “Okay.” He pulls out the pack of matches in his pocket and pauses before lighting it. “You’re ready to go?” 

“How, exactly, _are_ we going?” Kurt asks. “Did you figure out how to get the door open?”

“Ventilation system,” Puck explains. “It’s how I got all the storerooms closed up, yesterday. Are you ready?” 

“I’m not sure I’m really equipped for wriggling through a ventilation system,” Kurt says, clutching his pack to his chest. 

“I’ll boost you up first. Luckily this place really is the size of a shoebox,” Puck says, and he lights the match, carefully lighting four different places before dropping the match. He watches the papers catch, and he nods. “Let’s go.” He grabs Kurt’s wrist and pulls him out the breakroom and down the hall about twenty feet, where he’s already removed the vent over the ductwork. He bends his leg and pats it, raising his eyebrows at Kurt. 

“Seriously?” Kurt asks.

“Did you want to just jump?”

“Not particularly, no,” Kurt sighs. He eyes Puck dubiously, but puts his pack on his back and steps up onto Puck’s leg. Puck boosts him up until he thinks Kurt should be able to grab the duct. 

“Got it?” he asks. Kurt’s ass is pretty close to ‘right in Puck’s face’, and he’s pretty sure Kurt does _not_ realize that he’s wiggling it in Puck’s face. 

“A little higher? It’s hard to move in the vest,” Kurt says, his voice muffled. Puck shakes his head a little and lifts Kurt higher.

“You might be glad to have it later,” Puck says. “Now?”

“Got it,” Kurt says, suddenly pulling himself the rest of the way into the duct. “Which direction am I crawling?”

“Go to the right enough for me to get up there,” Puck says, looking down the hall at the breakroom and holding back a laugh when the sprinklers start at that moment, as if on cue. 

“Need a hand?” Kurt asks, his face appearing in the vent opening. “I could pull you up.”

“All that working out is coming in handy now,” Puck says, shaking his head and waving his hand. “Move back.” He waits until Kurt’s face disappears, then jumps up, holding himself in place for a few seconds before using his elbows to get more leverage. “See?” he concludes once he’s in the ductwork. “Good thing the pack isn’t heavier, though. Keep going that way until the first duct to the right. We’ll take it straight out.” 

“Where does it let out?” Kurt asks, beginning to crawl in the correct direction. 

“Somewhere that isn’t under lockdown,” Puck answers. “I wasn’t exactly briefed on my location before being assigned here. No detailed maps of the neighborhood.” 

“So you’re not even sure this tunnel leads out?” Kurt asks. He stops abruptly, and Puck runs face-first into his ass. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, don’t do that!” Puck says. “Nice ass, by the way. And it does lead out. We get fresh air, not purified air or tank air.” He pauses. “Did get.”

“It’s a perfectly rational question,” Kurt huffs as he continues crawling. “I’m sorry that I don’t routinely crawl around in the ventilation system for fun.”

“It’s not that different than a treehouse,” Puck says, “but we’re less likely to fall through and break a wrist. There, see that thin strip of something different ahead?”

“I guess?”

“That’s our exit,” Puck says. “You have the key for our wheels handy?”

“Yes. They’re in my front pocket,” Kurt says. 

“You can drive first, if you want,” Puck says. They finish crawling to the spot that Puck’s been watching, and he pulls out his phone, aiming the light at it. “Yep, that’s it. Push out on that line.” 

Kurt pushes, and a panel pops open, a rush of fresh air flowing into the duct. “I see a room,” Kurt calls back.

“Hand on your piece, crawl out,” Puck directs. 

Kurt fumbles at his hip for a moment before he manages to get his weapon out of its holster, then he crawls forward into the room, standing up. “It’s… a toll booth? Or a ticket booth of some kind, it looks like.”

“Anyone around?” Puck asks, suddenly hating that he let Kurt take lead. He hurries out of the duct and stands slowly, taking in what he can see. There isn’t anything much around, but Puck decides it might have once been a booth for a parking lot attendant. “Parking lot, maybe. Let’s go find our ride,” he says, pulling out his own gun and keeping it at his side. He slides the lock on the door, then pushes it open just enough for the two of them to slide out. 

The parking lot looks completely deserted and in the middle of nowhere. Kurt holds the keys up suddenly, pressing the button on the fob. In the far corner of the lot, a non-descript looking beige Jeep chirps, the rear lights flashing once. 

“I found our ride,” Kurt says.

“Good,” Puck says, looking around them in the predawn light. “Let’s get out of this area before we stop for anything.” 

“Stop for what?” Kurt asks. “There’s nowhere to stop.”

“Breakfast,” Puck says. “We should conserve our MREs if there’s cheap food available. Or gas, depending on how full our Jeep here is.” 

“I hope the Jeep has a map,” Kurt says. He reholsters his weapon and starts walking in the direction of the Jeep. 

“Drive towards the sun once it comes up?” Puck says, not reholstering his own gun until they’re at the Jeep and their packs are in the back. “Maybe we should spend fifty to a hundred at a Walmart or Target in a few hundred miles. We might need a cover that isn’t ‘gym rats’.” He sighs as he gets into the passenger seat. “I wonder if everyone that was undercover managed okay. The non-Hydra ones, I mean. I don’t care if the Hydra ones got shot twenty times each.” 

“Is there anyway to find out?” Kurt asks. “‘Trust no one’ doesn’t sound like encouragement to reach out to other agents.”

“No, not really,” Puck admits. “Just… the people that go deep, that takes a lot of skill. It’s pretty impressive. I know _why_ the info dump happened, on the macro level. On a micro level, we just climbed through the ductwork so we can drive to Ohio, and some agents were exposed.” 

“I hope their training is better than ours, then,” Kurt says. He starts the Jeep, and the gas needle slowly rises up to the F. “Head towards the sun?”

“Yeah. We don’t want to head straight for Ohio, anyway, right?” Puck says. “And speak for yourself, my training was top-notch, just not along those lines.” 

“I just feel a little having had more practical training in espionage would benefit me right now,” Kurt says. 

“What was your primary training in? I mean, datamining obviously,” Puck says. “What side did you come in from?” 

“I’m a data analyst,” Kurt says. “I’m exceptionally good at it.”

“So’d you study math or what?” Puck flips down the visor preemptively. “Where’s home?” 

“San Diego. I did my undergrad and first round of graduate classes at Stanford.”

“First round?” Puck asks with a frown. 

“It was just a graduate certificate,” Kurt says. “Mining Massive Data Sets. I went to DePaul for my master’s.”

“Are you serious? DePaul?” Puck asks. 

“Yes,” Kurt says, a little stiffly. “I know it’s not Harvard, but its master’s program in Predictive Analytics is one of the best in the country.”

“I went to DePaul. Arabic,” Puck says. “Only thirty-four schools have a major in Arabic, you know.” 

“I didn’t know that. Very impressive,” Kurt says. “I’ve actually been wondering this for a while, and since we’re stuck together, I suppose I should go ahead and ask.”

“Sometimes I even miss Chicago. Yeah, satisfy your curiosity.” 

“How many languages _do_ you speak?”

“Arabic, Farsi, Urdu, some Russian, I can speak and understand German but I can’t read or write it, Spanish, and most Romance languages, since they’re related, Turkish, and Kurdish.” Puck grins. “Oh, and Hebrew.” 

“Very impressive,” Kurt says, actually gracing Puck with a return smile. “I only speak French, Mandarin, a smattering of Cantonese, Japanese, and Thai. Well, Central Thai, technically.”

“So basically we’re set as long as we’re not in central Africa or Scandinavia?” Puck says. 

“I was considering learning Tagalog at one point, but every time I saw the word, my brain pronounced it as _Tagalong_ , and I developed irrational cravings for Girl Scout cookies,” Kurt says. “They aren’t even pronounced the same.”

Puck laughs. “Yeah, that’d make me hungry, too. So’d S.H.I.E.L.D. recruit you straight from DePaul? Or did you do some private sector work first?” 

“They contacted me halfway through my first year,” Kurt says. “I elected to finish the degree first. I figured I had time.”

“Yeah, I was thinking about maybe grad school, maybe Quantico,” Puck says. “S.H.I.E.L.D. seemed like a better fit.” He pauses. “Well, the non-Nazi parts of it, in retrospect.” 

Kurt nods. “I couldn’t say no. My dad’s a Captain America nut. He made me read all the biographies when I was little.”

“Hey, there are worse things than being a fan of Cap,” Puck says. “Apparently he pretty much is exactly like he seems— well, not the schmaltzy stuff they wrote in the ’50s and early ’60s.” 

“You should’ve heard the phone call after New York. ‘Cap’s back!’” Kurt says, his voice deepening to imitate his father. “I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I’d known for weeks at that point.”

Puck grins and looks sideways at Kurt. “Remember how I said I was in the field before the Shoebox? Part of that assignment was Clint Barton.” 

Kurt starts to laugh. “I thought you were about to tell me you worked directly for Cap. That’s the biggest pick-up line in the Hub’s coffee bar, you know?”

“All of ’em lying, you mean?” Puck says with his own laugh. “If Cap only knew how many people he had ‘working’ for him. Nah, just Barton. That assignment ended and I think he was going under deep cover. Need to know.” Puck shrugs. “Why did it have to be the midwest? What city in Ohio, again?” 

“Lima,” Kurt says. “Apparently pronounced like the bean, not like the city in Peru, sadly.”

“Yeah. That’s western Ohio. I grew up in south central Indiana,” Puck says. “Where I was known for being a three-letter athlete and not much else.” 

“And look at you now. Worked with one of the Avengers, no less,” Kurt says. “So what’s he like?”

“Quiet,” Puck says. “ _Great_ arms, but you probably knew that. And he pretty much only talks about his pet pug or Romanoff.” 

Kurt glances over at Puck. “So are they…”

“I don’t think _Barton_ knows the answer to that question,” Puck says with a laugh. “And now I’m not— wasn’t, I guess. I wasn’t eligible for the pool, after working with him.” 

“Too bad. I would’ve put money on yes,” Kurt says. “I’m not an expert on Agent Romanoff, but I don’t think _I_ could’ve told him no.”

“Oh, me too, on yes,” Puck says wryly. “I wouldn’t say no to either one of them.”

“I’m somehow entirely unsurprised by that information.”

“Hey, I appreciate nice things when I see them,” Puck says, grinning a little. “I appreciate myself, sometimes, because I’m pretty good to look at, too.”

“That is one of your better qualities,” Kurt says. 

“Appreciating the finer things?” Puck says, still grinning. “I agree. And don’t worry, you’re pretty good to look at, too, _Agent_.”

“Thanks… Agent.”

“So tell me about Feels,” Puck says, reclining his seat at a slight angle. 

“Excuse me?” Kurt asks. “Feels?”

“Feels, our kindergarten teacher,” Puck says matter-of-factly. 

“No. Just _no_ ,” Kurt says. “That sounds perverted and ridiculous.”

“It’s perfect. The people on the fan blogs will _love_ it,” Puck says. “Short, easy to remember, and they love having ‘feels’.” 

“I don’t understand. Why would they love to feel the kindergarten teacher?”

“Not feeling, _feels_ ,” Puck says. “The fan blogs for Cap, the rest of the Avengers, and S.H.I.E.L.D., they have such strong emotions, apparently, that they have ‘feels’. I’m telling you, Feels is the perfect name for our kindergarten teacher. He can’t just be— what’s his given name?”

Kurt sighs. “Hudson. Finn Hudson.”

“Yeah, he can’t go by _Finn_ out there in the world. I mean, we’ll call him Finn or Mr. Hudson, I guess, but he should be Feels.” Puck grins. “Mr. Hudson, Kindergarten Teacher of the Year. And I bet he has no clue why.” 

“Three consecutive years, actually,” Kurt says.

“I’ve never even thought about having to protect an asset by being in a school,” Puck says thoughtfully. “Even if we get him to relocate, he’s going to want to keep teaching, isn’t he?”

“I have no idea. I’ve never done anything like this before,” Kurt says. “But yes, probably. According to the file, they haven’t made first contact with him yet. He was under observation, but everything seemed to be going so well, nobody ever approached him. He might not even agree to go with us.”

Puck mulls that over for a few moments, then nods to himself. “He won’t want to endanger the kids. We can use that angle.” 

“And when he gets upset and we’re beset upon by thirty-some-odd irate five-year-olds?”

“We don’t _approach_ him at the school!” Puck says, shaking his head. “Grocery store parking lot, maybe.” 

“I do have his home address,” Kurt says.

“I figured we could stalk him rather than act like Jehovah’s Witnesses or Amway salesmen,” Puck says. “What’s he look like? Did they include a picture? I didn’t check the rest of the file that day.” 

“He’s handsome. Tall.” Kurt shakes his head. “As much as I hate to admit it, he’d make a great public personality. I don’t think we need to call him Feels, however.”

“Feels,” Puck says firmly. “Feels, soon-to-be-formerly-of Lima, Ohio.” 

 

**[Agent K. Hummel, S.H.I.E.L.D., Mobile Operations, Report 1, roughly 0800 Hours]**

_Abandoned Site 237C on Agent Melinda May’s orders. Able to escape due to Specialist Puckerman’s excellent tactical skills. Heading to Lima, Ohio, with Puckerman to retrieve Asset 309C-FCH: Hudson, Finn. Obviously no way to transmit daily log at this point; keeping the best records I can in my journal for future debriefing._

_I hope we picked the right asset. I hope we get there first._

**[End Journal Entry]**


	6. Chapter 6

Thirteen hours after they leave the parking lot, Puck starts scanning the sides of the highways as they approach the Dallas–Fort Worth area. He’s still using his own phone, under the assumption that someone at his level isn’t Hydra’s highest priority for at least forty-eight hours. Actually, Puck figures they have two days at minimum before Hydra hits the Shoebox, and Puck’s going to make full use of those days.

There’s a Walmart Supercenter listed a few miles ahead, and Puck nods to himself, checking out the map of the nearby area. “We’re going to get off at Exit 408 and take a left,” Puck announces. “Then you’ll drop me off at the China Harbor before going to park at the Walmart.” 

“You want Chinese food?” Kurt asks.

“No, we’re not going to be seen walking into the Walmart together,” Puck says. “You’ll meet me at the Panda Express once you’re done with your part of the shopping. Which is clothes, by the way. We need at least one outfit that says ‘underpaid business traveler’ and one that says ‘on vacation’, plus the stuff we already have with us.” 

“Okay,” Kurt says. He glances over at Puck briefly, looking him up and down. “Got it.”

“I’ll get cheap luggage, more toiletries, the kinds of things that people buy before a vacation. Combined, they’d be odd, but separately, no big deal,” Puck says. “We’ll drive to the other side of Dallas–Fort Worth and get an inexpensive motel, after that. Review the file. You _did_ bring the file, right?”

“I’ve been reviewing the file for the majority of this drive,” Kurt says.

Puck gives Kurt what’s probably a pretty weird look as Kurt steers towards the exit, and then he snorts. “Right. Datamining. Fine, you can tell me about the file once we stop for the night. Whoever gets to Panda Express first should order our dinner.” He pauses. “We should be fine without our vests for now, but keep your piece on you.”

“Got it,” Kurt says.

“Any special requests for toiletries?” Puck asks while they wait to turn into the China Harbor parking lot. “Aftershave? Crossword puzzles? I think I might get a sudoku book.” 

“Unscented. Extra-hold hair gel. See if you can find a book relating to kindergarten curriculum.”

“We can pose as teacher recruiters?” Puck says, then shrugs. “Yeah, okay, it might even work.” Kurt turns into the China Harbor lot, and Puck climbs out, patting his pocket and pulling on his shirt, just to make sure his piece is still concealed. Kurt pulls out, heading for the Super Walmart parking lot, and Puck walks towards the China Harbor door like he’s going in before turning at the last minute and meandering slowly towards the Super Walmart himself. 

No one gives him a second look in the Walmart, except for when he almost runs over an old woman who is really concerned about which anti-wrinkle cream she should buy. She glares, and Puck apologizes, because he didn’t _mean_ to almost run over her. The cheapest luggage he can find is joined by a selection of various toiletries, and then Puck goes over to the grocery section, buying food that he figures a guy like him might pack for a family vacation, if he had a family to take on vacation, down to the juice boxes with Elmo on them. 

Puck’s last stop is the book section, where he gets his sudoku book before looking around for something about kindergarten. He starts to get _Summer Bridge Activities: Grades PreK-K_ , which looks like a workbook, but then he spots _What Your Kindergartner Needs To Know_ , which sounds like a better choice, all things considered. Plus, it even goes along with the Elmo organic juice boxes: concerned parent. 

Of course, after all of that thought, the cashier doesn’t even notice, and Puck feels almost let down as he carries his bags across the parking lot towards the Panda Express. “I bet that’s how real parents feel,” he mutters to himself. “Buying organic juice boxes and no one cares.” He spots the Jeep already parked on one side of the restaurant, and he angles towards it. Kurt isn’t with it, so Puck sets his bags down on the curb and leans against the hood, waiting. 

The Jeep beeps and unlocks, and then Kurt comes out of the Panda Express with a large sack full of containers in one hand, and two large drinks cradled in his other arm. “Door!” he calls ahead to Puck.

Puck opens the passenger side door with a grin. “What’d you get me?” he asks. 

“Chicken with broccoli, brown rice, and eggroll, and a Coke,” Kurt says, sliding into the passenger seat. 

“Sounds good.” Puck walks around to the driver’s side, loads his bags, and then climbs into the driver’s side. “I got _What Your Kindergartner Needs to Know_ ,” he reports. “And Elmo juice boxes, and no one even noticed what a good dad I was.” 

“Elmo?” Kurt repeats quietly.

“Yeah, the organic ones, with Elmo on them,” Puck says, taking a long sip of his pop. “See, my shopping cover was a dad shopping for family vacation.” 

“I’m reluctant to ask what flavor is _Elmo_ flavor,” Kurt says, grimacing. 

“White grape,” Puck says, taking his food from Kurt. “It doesn’t stain the new family car that way, right?” He grins and takes a bite of his eggroll. “What’d you buy for yourself?”

“Orange beef, fried rice, also an eggroll,” Kurt says. “And a Diet Coke.”

Puck stops chewing. “Beef?” he repeats. “I thought you were a vegetarian.” 

“Hmm. What made you think that?”

“Other than the fact that you never ate any meat back at…” Puck trails off and waves his eggroll. “You know.” 

“Neither did you,” Kurt says. “As I explained, none of that is actually meat. The eggplant was, at least, actually eggplant. Well, genetically modified super-eggplant.”

“Hmm.” Puck shrugs. “As long as it wasn’t pork, I guess.” 

“And here I almost went with the mushu,” Kurt says, opening his container and beginning to eat his orange beef.

“We never had separate dishes or anything, but no pork, no shellfish, no cheeseburgers growing up,” Puck explains. “Nana moved in with us when my dad left, and none of us wanted to cross Nana.” 

“Even now?” Kurt asks.

“Nana died my sophomore year at DePaul, but by then… it was habit, I guess,” Puck says. “Kind of like always carrying. It’s just something I do.” 

“Not a habit I ever had occasion to develop,” Kurt says. “Analysts don’t generally need to carry. I can shoot, of course.”

“You’ll learn,” Puck says with a grin. “Since you’re in the field for the foreseeable.” 

“I’m hoping this all blows over quickly and I can go back home to my nice, safe little Shoebox,” Kurt says.

“Yeah, I don’t think Hydra’s disappearing that fast,” Puck says, shaking his head. He takes a few more bites of his food before closing the lid. “I’ll finish it when we stop at the motel.” He starts the Jeep and steers them back onto the interstate, keeping an eye on the speed limit and his own speed. The last thing they need is to be pulled over. “Any fake IDs in with the keys and everything?” 

“No, nothing like that, unfortunately. I have my personal driver’s license,” Kurt says.

“Yeah. Okay,” Puck says, nodding a little. “Same here. Let’s hope we’re not anywhere that needs to see both of our licenses, since they’re not issued in the same state.” Puck grins. “Unless you’ve maintained a permanent address in Bedford, Indiana.” 

“Alas, no.”

“You aren’t missing much,” Puck says as he exits to stay on the same interstate. “What do you think about that Super 8 on that billboard?” 

“We can’t hold out for a Marriott?” Kurt asks. 

“Look at us,” Puck says. “Look at our Jeep. We’re Super 8 vacationers, Kurt.” 

“And what, pray tell, is a Super 8 vacationer?”

“No fucking clue,” Puck admits with a laugh. “But I like the Super 8 price.” 

“I guess I’ll just have to make the best of it,” Kurt says, sighing dramatically. 

“At least you have your super-duper hold hair gel?” Puck says brightly. “And I think it has a continental breakfast. Maybe it’ll be one of those where they bring in the Krispy Kremes.” 

“Nice! I haven’t had a Krispy Kreme in at least three years,” Kurt says. 

“That’s way too long to go without,” Puck says, shaking his head. “You should have made an effort last time you had leave.” 

“Like I said, at least three years.”

Puck waits until he’s passed another car, then looks at Kurt. “You haven’t had _leave_ in three years?” he asks incredulously. 

“Until you came, the Shoebox had exactly one staffer,” Kurt says. “And even when you got there, you can’t do the things I can do.”

“Yeah, but…” Puck trails off and shakes his head, putting on his turn signal for the exit. “Well, now you’re out of the Shoebox. Anywhere we should stop on our way to Lima that you’ve been craving? Ice cream? Steak?”

“Pizza,” Kurt says. “And a cheeseburger. Not necessarily at the same time.”

“Pizza and a cheeseburger, got it,” Puck says, nodding. “And yeah, let’s stick with two separate meals there.” He turns into the Super 8 parking lot and pulls to the side, so that whoever’s working the lobby can’t see them. “I’ll go in and tell them there’s only me staying the night. Whoever’s working in the morning will be different, anyway.” 

“Is that level of subterfuge really necessary, do you think?” Kurt asks.

“Maybe, maybe not.” Puck shrugs. “I think we should have at least one more solid day before Hydra even realizes the Shoebox has been abandoned. I’d like to make it hard for any of them following behind us.” He shuts off the engine and grins. “Don’t worry, I’ll still make sure I get two beds, if that’s what you’re worried about.” 

“Yes, that was definitely my primary concern, not the Nazis buried in our ranks or the kindergarten teacher with superpowers we’re about to abduct,” Kurt says.

“We’re going to get Feels to come with us _voluntarily_ ,” Puck says before climbing out of the Jeep and going to the office. He doesn’t even have to use his prepared excuse—work documents—to get a room with two beds, and the guy gives him two keycards for reasons Puck can’t actually fathom, if Puck’s supposed to be staying alone. 

When Puck gets back in the Jeep, he hands one of the keycards to Kurt silently, then drives the Jeep down to the other side of the pool. As they start to gather their packs and what they bought at Walmart, Puck starts to laugh. 

“I bet you didn’t buy us swim trunks, did you?” 

“Should I have?” Kurt asks, a little too innocently. 

“Uh-oh,” Puck says, groaning. “Okay, how _ugly_ are the swim trunks?”

“Mine are a lovely teal with a subtle wave pattern,” Kurt says. “Yours have parrots. Large red parrots.”

“You know, I even got your stupid hair gel,” Puck grumbles as he walks up to the door of the motel room. “And _organic_ juice.” He cringes as he opens the door to a blast of cold air. “Well, the air conditioning works.” 

“A nice change from the Jeep, anyway,” Kurt says.

“Yeah, that’s true.” Puck dumps his armload onto one bed, then clicks the Jeep locked before shutting the motel room door and locking it. He pulls the curtains and walks quietly around the room, looking behind the furniture when he can. After he unplugs the landline and the television, he sits on the bed with his pack. “Okay, tell me about Feels.” 

Kurt sits on the other side of the bed, resting his hands on his knees. “Hudson, Finn C., twenty-seven. Father deceased, mother never remarried. Born in Lima and never lived anywhere else, other than four years at Kent State, after which he immediately returned to Lima and was hired as a teacher. Hasn’t ever been contacted directly by S.H.I.E.L.D., and as we noted, probably entirely unaware that he has any powers at all. Unmarried, and hasn’t kept a girlfriend for any length of time. And no, before you ask, he hasn’t kept a boyfriend, either.”

“Okay, so if everyone around him is so happy, then why no significant other?” Puck says curiously. “There’s got to be a reason. Anything in the file about if it’s him or others initiating breakups?” 

“It doesn’t say. I guess whoever assembled the file initially didn’t think it was pertinent,” Kurt says. “Based on his other relationships, both personal and professional, he’s a great guy, lauded by his coworkers and respected by his friends. He also tips twenty-five percent with no exception.”

“I’m going to put in a complaint,” Puck says. “Remind me to tweet the world about it _after_ we’ve gotten to Feels first. It’s going to tell that agent that they left out some information.” He shakes his head. “Okay, so he’s basically All-American boy, come back home after college, and we’re going to show up and tell him he has to leave.”

“I can’t think of another alternative, and believe me, I’ve run through all the possible scenarios,” Kurt says. “With just the two of us, and, frankly, only one of you, we can’t possibly keep him out of Hydra's hands in Lima, not if they come looking for him, which they will in…” He tilts his head side to side a few times. “Four to five days.”

“We’re going to have to get regular jobs,” Puck says with a sigh. “Since we both went to DePaul, maybe we should convince Feels to head to Chicago. I’d rather be in slightly familiar territory.” 

“And despite the popular conception of hiding out in a small town, the big city is a much better place to keep a low profile,” Kurt says.

“Yeah, exactly. We’ll have to figure out a good reason for three guys to be living in the same apartment.” Puck shrugs. “Sorry.” 

“To save on rent, obviously,” Kurt says. 

“Yeah, but _how_ do we know each other? It’s going to be obvious to anyone looking closely that you don’t like me, for starters, so why would you live there even to save on rent?” Puck says, shaking his head a little. 

“I like you just fine,” Kurt says. He sits up a little straighter and squares his shoulders, all-in-all giving the appearance of someone who has just been moderately offended by something. “I’m not sure what gave you the impression that I don’t.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Puck says. “You’re very professional and all of that, and I’m sure with some practice you won’t give it away. I’m just talking about at first.” 

“My reservations about having an additional agent in the Shoebox are in no way an indication of my personal feelings about you as an individual,” Kurt insists. 

“Uh-huh,” Puck says skeptically. “You don’t have to lie to make me feel better or anything like that.” He rolls his eyes a little. “Agent Hummel.” 

“It’s important to remain professional when interacting in a professional capacity!” Kurt says. “And you kept rearranging all my files!”

“Yeah, on purpose, which turned out to come in handy,” Puck says. “Hydra won’t be able to find a damn thing, even if they manage to get into those rooms. Also, it’s not like we had a commute at the end of the day.” 

“Exactly! We were always on duty,” Kurt says, crossing his arms over his chest and nodding. 

“Nope, sometimes we _weren’t_ having to be professional,” Puck says, shaking his head. “Anyway, did you really think a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent couldn’t _alphabetize_?”

“Some people have a harder time with alphabetizing,” Kurt says. “Though I also suspected you were doing it primarily to antagonize me.”

“Yeah, you make this face when you get upset,” Puck says unrepentantly. “Plus you seemed unnerved by the idea that I could actually be interested in the files.” 

“Well I haven’t exactly had a lot of company over the last three years, let alone someone looking through my files!” 

“There it is!” Puck laughs. “There’s the huffy face!” 

“I am _not_ making a huffy face!” Kurt’s crossed arms tighten more. “And even if I were, it wouldn’t be unjustified. You’re besmirching my professionalism.”

Puck laughs. “Besmirch! Does that mean you get, like, ravaged, too? Defiled?”

“Excuse me?” Kurt squawks. “First of all, that is _entirely_ inappropriate, and secondly, the only person with access to do such a thing for the last three years has been _you_ , so perhaps you should be more careful with your words.”

“Okay, so we’re off-duty until we drive in the morning, and also?” Puck shakes his head, trying to look as offended as possible. “You don’t think I’d be good at that? You have to at least think I’m better than, what, the two or three other agents you probably got transferred out of the Shoebox?”

“There haven’t been any other agents,” Kurt says. “You were the first one they decided to inflict upon me.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Puck says with a small grin. 

“Yes, I’m sure you’re worlds better at ravaging than the non-existent agents,” Kurt says. “Are you happy now?”

“Hmm.” Puck shakes his head, still grinning. “Not really. Also, you _really_ have the huffy face now.” 

“No I don’t!”

“Yeah, you really do,” Puck insists. “Is it the idea of being ravaged in general?”

“This isn’t conducive to professionalism, Agent Puckerman,” Kurt says.

“No, it’s absolutely necessary, _Kurt_. We’re not in the Shoebox anymore. We’re out in the field. You can’t fall back on your professionalism mask-thing.” 

“That makes professionalism even more important,” Kurt insists. “It keeps thing from getting more complicated than they already are. The last thing we need is to pull personal feelings into this.”

“Uh-huh. That’s the real complication. So how long _has_ it been, Kurt? Since the ravishing, I mean.”

“That’s none of you business.”

“It’s been about six months for me,” Puck admits. “Now it’s your turn to share.” 

“I didn’t need to know that,” Kurt says, looking and sounding increasingly flustered.

“How long?” Puck says persistently. 

“Fine! Three years!” Kurt snaps. “Are you happy now?”

“Damn!” Puck whistles. “Well, not happy for _you_ , that’s for sure. Bad breakup? Is that why you never took any leave?” 

“There _is_ no leave, not where there’s nobody else who does what I do,” Kurt says.

“Did you ask?” Puck says, raising his eyebrows. “I bet you didn’t ask. So. Bad breakup?” 

“Yes, there was a break-up, and yes, it had everything to do with me being recruited by S.H.I.E.L.D., which just confirms what almost every other agent says, that relationships and S.H.I.E.L.D. really don’t mix,” Kurt says.

“Jealous?” Puck asks. “What’d he do?” 

“He didn’t take my recruitment by S.H.I.E.L.D. very well.”

“Yeah, I gathered _that_ ,” Puck says, rolling his eyes. “Did he want to be S.H.I.E.L.D.? Or did he just have some other grand plan for the two of you?” 

“He didn’t understand why S.H.I.E.L.D. would choose me, not him,” Kurt says. “He was enrolled in University of Chicago’s political science PhD program. He said he was a much better candidate for S.H.I.E.L.D.” Kurt sighs and shakes his head slightly. “He calls what I do ‘number crunching’ and told me any computer could do it.”

“Ouch.” Puck frowns. “I hope that’s when you dumped him.” 

“No,” Kurt says. “No, we stayed together until I was in academy, actually.”

“Why?” Puck asks incredulously. “Was he that good in bed?” 

“We’d been together since Stanford,” Kurt says. 

“…and?” Puck says. “You had him trained? He was into the same kinky shit you were?” 

“And I thought we were in love. I thought we were soul mates.”

“Well, that sucks. Clearly you weren’t, though.” Puck shakes his head. “He sounds like a douchebag, really. How old were you when you met him, then? Eighteen, nineteen?” Puck laughs for a moment. “My first girlfriend turned out to be a lesbian.” 

“Oh, well, that’s… ah, unfortunate?” Kurt says, grimacing. “I was seventeen, he was eighteen.”

“That wasn’t a great song,” Puck says, shaking his head to clear the memories of twice-yearly watching of _The Sound of Music_ with Nana. “I’m just saying, we all make mistakes when we’re teenagers. I once dated a guy for six months because of how big his mouth was.” 

Kurt’s eyebrows rise abruptly. “Wow.”

“Turned out to be kind of dumb and a horrible conversationalist.” Puck shrugs. “Live and learn, right?”

“I suppose,” Kurt says.

“You’re not going to stay with a guy who calls you a computer again, right? See, you learned something.” 

“Yes,” Kurt concedes. “I learned that S.H.I.E.L.D. and dating don’t mix.”

“No, just the job and that particular McDumber.” Puck grins. “S.H.I.E.L.D. has plenty of poli sci wonks. Probably just jealous. So you what, swore off romance and sex after that?” 

“A couple of hook-ups at academy and while I was at the Hub, but otherwise, pretty much,” Kurt says. 

“Tell me it wasn’t one of the guys with the Cap pickup line at least?” Puck says in a pleading voice. “I thought you had _slightly_ better taste.” 

Kurt’s cheeks redden. “No, actually… the last guy claimed he designed bows for Barton.”

“Oh, man.” Puck laughs. “You fell for it. Barton does his own.” 

“Yes,” Kurt sighs. “I realize that now.”

“Someone at the Triskelion tried to convince me he was Fury’s eye doctor,” Puck says with a grin. “You want to know what I told him?”

“Yes. Suddenly I _very_ much want to know what you told him.”

“I told him that I hoped he was better in bed than he was at eyes, since Fury only had the one,” Puck says. “He didn’t even have the _professionalism_ to let me evaluate, after that.” 

“Oh my,” Kurt says.

“I know, it was rude,” Puck says, shaking his head. “I will admit to falling back on the old ‘speaking another language’ thing. People find the weirdest phrases ‘romantic-sounding’.” 

“What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever said?” Kurt asks. He uncrosses his arms and turns towards Puck, propping his legs on the bed. “Something really strange.”

“I told a girl once that I liked her hairy nipple, in Urdu,” Puck says with a grin. “And one guy, I went on and on about my family’s camels. Kurdish.” 

“Oh, that’s just disgusting,” Kurt says, sticking his tongue out. 

“There’s nothing wrong with camels,” Puck says, his grin getting wider. “Careful with that tongue.” He rattles off a phrase in Farsi that doesn’t have anything to do with camels or nipples, but does approximate to ‘careful what you do with your tongue’. 

“What does that mean? And I _don’t_ have one hairy nipple.”

“Just that you never know what people might want to do with your tongue.” Puck pauses and tries not to grin. “Agent Hummel.” 

Kurt’s face reddens again, but he does smile, at least. “Thank you for the warning, Agent Puckerman.”

“That’s the fun thing,” Puck says. “Some perfectly innocent things sound really _un_ innocent, and vice versa.” He grins again and tosses out some Arabic poetry he memorized during his junior year at DePaul. “Any guesses?”

“None at all. More about camels?”

“Erotic poetry, actually,” Puck says. “You wouldn’t have guessed, would you’ve?”

Kurt’s blush deepens. “No. I wouldn’t have.”

“You want to hear some more?” Puck asks, mostly because it’s fun and a little because he’s just waiting for Kurt to call him on how much he’s flirting. 

“I can’t understand what you’re saying, though.”

“Oh, you want me to translate?” Puck grins more widely and slowly runs his eyes up and down Kurt. “You just want the erotic poetry part?” 

“That— that’s not necessary!” Kurt says, turning redder still. 

“I didn’t ask if it was _necessary_ ,” Puck says. “I asked if that’s what you wanted.” 

“I— I— _professionalism_!”

“Strictly speaking, poetry in general isn’t necessary,” Puck says almost blandly. “If that makes you feel more… professional.” 

“It _is_ nicer than the thing about the camels or the hairy nipple,” Kurt says, not making direct eye contact with Puck. “But we should probably focus on the mission. You said it would be obvious that I don’t like you?”

Puck leans back and rolls onto his side. “We could be a couple, and Feels could be your brother or mine. That’d explain the dislike, right?” 

“But if I disliked you, why would we be a couple?” Kurt asks. He tugs a little at the collar of his shirt. 

“Stuck with me. Can’t afford a divorce.” Puck shakes his head. “It’s sad. You’re clearly the one who wants a divorce. I’d be bring home flowers and shit all the time, and you keep not putting them in water, even.” 

“I would never be so rude,” Kurt insists. “Maybe you’ve been bringing the flowers because you feel guilty about something. Maybe you’ve been having an affair.”

“I am a lot of things, but a cheater is _not_ one of them,” Puck argues. “I’m just trying to bring the romance back. I even tried to get you to go dancing with me on Saturday night.” 

“Knowing I’d say no, then you could claim you asked and use that to justify your behavior,” Kurt says. 

“Why would you say no?” Puck says, frowning exaggeratedly. “You used to love it when we went dancing. Maybe _you_ have a new dance partner!” 

“Like I’d have time for that! I barely have time to come home and prepare a meal, after spending all day at the office, and _you_! All you ever do is complain about my cooking!” 

“You keep trying to mix dairy and beef! My poor Nana. And don’t think I didn’t realize that last package of ‘turkey bacon’ didn’t have any poultry in it!” 

Kurt lets out an exasperated huff. “You knew I didn’t keep kosher when you moved in with me! Why is it that _I’m_ always expected to change for you! The cheese sauce wasn’t even _on_ the meat! It was served in a separate dish. Was that for my own sake? No! It was for you!”

“I don’t want you to _change_ , I just want you to open yourself up to new experiences! That was right after you tore up the voucher for bungee jumping!” Puck says, barely hiding his grin. 

“You know my primary care physician has order me to avoid anything that stresses my spine, ever since you spun us out on that death trap you call a motorcycle!” Kurt seems to really be getting into character, his face pink and his eyes flashing. “I don’t know why I even stay with you!”

“The motorcycle gets you hot, and the sex is great,” Puck says, giving up on hiding his grin. 

“You haven’t touched me in three years!” Kurt exclaims, then his eyes widen and he clamps his hand over his mouth. Puck isn’t entirely sure that _that_ part is one hundred percent in character, and he shakes his head slowly. 

“You’re the one that got his _primary care physician_ to say that sex could be strenuous on the spine.” 

“I don’t want to fight anymore,” Kurt says quietly, and again, Puck isn’t sure if that’s Kurt in character or Kurt speaking as Kurt. 

“Oh good,” Puck says with an exaggerated sigh. “That means it’s time for the makeup sex, right?” 

“Right,” Kurt answers softly, looking down at his hands. 

Puck studies Kurt’s body language for a few moments before sitting up and turning off most of the lights. “Alarm’s set for oh-six-hundred,” he says after brushing his teeth. “I can take the first shift of driving.” 

“Thank you,” Kurt says. He picks up his pack and walks into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. Puck hears the shower start shortly after that. 

Puck shrugs a little, then puts on his pajama bottoms and clears off half of the bed before climbing into it. He’ll see what else he can find out in the morning while they drive east. 

 

**[Agent K. Hummel, S.H.I.E.L.D., Mobile Operations, Report 2, 2105 Hours]**

_Making excellent time. Plan to head east to Atlanta and then north up I–75. Glad for Agent Puckerman’s company and his skill set. Field work is proving to be more intimate than I had imagined. Something about the experience makes professionalism difficult to hold onto. Hopefully I will adjust and all will be returned to normal by the time we reach Lima, Ohio._

**[End Journal Entry]**


	7. Chapter 7

Puck waits until they’ve eaten lunch at a Wendy’s just outside Meridian, Mississippi, and subsequently gotten back onto the interstate before he brings up anything other than S.H.I.E.L.D., Hydra, or the news on the radio. “So,” he says too casually. “McDumber. Did he cheat?” 

“What makes you ask that?” Kurt asks.

“You didn’t break up with him over that one comment, which I still think was a breakup-worthy offense, but stayed with him for quite awhile longer. Something had to happen. You don’t strike me as the type to do a surprise proposal, so he didn’t turn down a proposal. Cheating is the most logical reason and the most commonplace.” Puck shrugs. “I’m not wrong, am I?” 

“No, not entirely,” Kurt admits. “Though…” He sighs. 

“You _caught_ him in the act?” Puck guesses. 

“No, it’s not that,” Kurt says. “It’s just that in the end, he was the one who broke up with me, not the other way around.”

“He cheated, and you were _still_ going to stay with McDumber?” Puck glances over at Kurt. “Or he just got the chance first?” 

“I tried to make things work, but it was just hard for me to get past it and really forgive him. He told me that I wasn’t owning up to my own responsibility for the situation.”

“Were you supposed to follow him around and remind him he was in a relationship? I’m not following, here,” Puck admits. “Except it sounds like you’re definitely better off without him.” 

“I was too obsessed with my work,” Kurt says. “I wasn’t prioritizing our relationship. He felt neglected.”

“Yeah, still not following,” Puck says, shrugging. “Who needs that? Did he give you the bullshit thing about how he was just _sure_ you were cheating, too?” 

“He made a little noise about how he wouldn’t be surprised if there weren’t someone at S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Kurt says. 

“Yeah, I would have kicked his ass to the curb,” Puck says almost cheerfully. “No way the sex could have been that good.” 

“At the time, I didn’t have much to compare it to.”

“That’s a ‘no, it really wasn’t’, I think,” Puck says. “Did I tell you about this girl at DePaul?” 

“No,” Kurt says. “What about her?”

“Well, first of all, she was hot. I mean, I’m not going to argue that. Probably one of the hottest girls on campus. But she knew she was hot, I guess? We’d been together about four months when she starts dropping all these _hints_ about gifts she wanted. Kinks she wanted to try. You name it, she’d hint around it. So one day I finally called her on it. She didn’t know what half the kinks _were_. She’d just heard some friends talking and started making up all this bullshit about her sex life, and then she started getting scared that they’d ask me about it.” Puck shakes his head. “Don’t date a liar, no matter how hot they are.” 

“I’d drink to that, if we weren’t driving and we had drinks,” Kurt says. “I guess we could drink an Elmo juicebox to that.”

“Hey, those are organic!” Puck says with a grin. “Just remember that when we get to Chicago: _I_ would buy the theoretical future children organic juice.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Did we figure out what our kindergartner needs to know, yet?” Puck asks. “Beside how to actually stay quiet during rest time, I mean. I was awful at that.” 

“Hand-eye coordination and fine motor skills,” Kurt says. “Can he—or is our kindergartner a she—cut on a straight line?”

“She, and no, but I want to put her in some martial arts classes in the fall,” Puck says. “That’s really good for hand-eye coordination.” 

“Isn’t she a little young for that?”

“The earlier, the better. They structure the classes to be age-appropriate.” Puck grins. “Don’t worry, she’ll still have time for Little League. That’s what you were thinking, right?” 

“Oh, definitely,” Kurt says. “But ballet, also.”

“Ha, I knew it,” Puck says triumphantly. “I had you pegged for a baseball fan.” 

“There. Now you know one of my secrets. Your turn.”

“I hate the Colts. Being in Chicago didn’t make me a Bears fan, either. Saints, and no, I can’t really explain why. Just always have been,” Puck says with a shrug. “Oh, but I don’t want our kid being a cheerleader, do you?” 

“No. Absolutely not,” Kurt says, with an affected shudder. 

“But hey, we can start her on a few languages already!” Puck laughs, shaking his head. “So my high school had Spanish, French, Latin, or German,” he says. “That was it. I took Spanish, and by junior year I was hanging out in the back of the German classrooms. I asked if they’d ever thought about adding another language, and they looked at me, horrified. I tried to explain that three Romance languages wasn’t really a lot of diversity.” 

“That sounds terrible. Our daughter definitely needs a wider set of options,” Kurt says. 

“That’s why Chicago or another major metropolitan area is the best bet,” Puck agrees, nodding. “The most opportunities. Don’t let her become a Cubs fan, though.” 

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Kurt says. 

“See, if you could just get over the kosher thing and stop bringing home pork, I wouldn’t have to buy so many bouquets of flowers,” Puck teases. 

“What if I _like_ all the flowers?” Kurt asks, a trace of a smile on his face. 

“Oh, you were putting the cheese sauce out with the roast just so I’d think you were mad about something?” Puck laughs. “Tricky. I like it.” 

“That’s why I was recruited. I’m very clever,” Kurt says, smiling wider. 

“So you’re holding out for a nicer and nicer place to go dancing?” Puck says. “I’m guessing… you want dinner beforehand at one of those steakhouses on the lake.” 

“A bottle of fine wine. None of that terrible kosher stuff.”

“I’m not sure if you’re saying instead of the steak or in addition to, but I’m going to go with in addition to the steak dinner. You’re trying to bankrupt us. Are we going to have enough money left to get our little girl a nice dress for the first day of kindergarten?” 

Kurt laughs. “Don’t worry. No child of mine is going to school dressed like a pauper.”

“You can’t put her in one of those suits like you wear! Little girls like to twirl their skirts. And then skin their knees,” Puck adds. 

“Children don’t need business apparel,” Kurt says, sniffing like the idea of it offends him. “Besides, I thought you liked my suits.”

“Last I checked, you weren’t a little girl going to kindergarten,” Puck says, grinning at Kurt and raising his eyebrows. “Definitely too big for kindergarten. Should I double-check tonight to make sure you’re a man? I mean, I was pretty sure already, but if you want me to investigate…” 

Kurt’s face reddens, and he looks away. “I think we can probably pull off the appearance of being in a relationship,” he says. 

“Is that a yes or a no? Because I think you _think_ you’re supposed to say no, but you want to say yes,” Puck says, looking straight ahead at the road again. 

“This is our cover,” Kurt says. “I don’t want to cross the line into something unprofessional.”

“Oh, right, professionalism,” Puck says knowingly as he nods. “So the answer _would_ be yes, is what you’re saying.” 

“I’m sure you’re already aware of how attractive you are,” Kurt says. 

“Objectively speaking? Well, yeah. It’s still nice to be appreciated,” Puck says. “Anyway, if it was just attractiveness you wanted, I’m sure you could find that pretty easily.” He glances at Kurt again for a few seconds. “You’re not exactly unable to fill out your BDUs.” 

“It’s too hard to meet people, with the work,” Kurt says. “It’s probably better this way, anyway. I wouldn’t be available enough to keep a partner happy.”

“Uh-huh. First of all, that excuse on his part was bullshit. Secondly, really? You’re not even thirty and you’re just done?”

“I don’t even miss it anymore, really,” Kurt says, shrugging.

Puck barely keeps driving, and he starts laughing, shaking his head. “I don’t believe that. Bullshit.” 

“I was never very good at being ravaged, anyway,” Kurt says. “Can’t really turn my mind off, and there’s really only so many times I want to hear how uptight I am.”

“Hey, if the guy you’re with thinks you’re uptight, I’m thinking that’s on _him_ , not you,” Puck says, shaking his head. “If everyone’s not having a good time, then that’s on everyone, not just the person who isn’t. _Especially_ not on the person who isn’t.” 

“Well, that’s a nice thought, anyway,” Kurt says. 

“No, for real, that’s my approach,” Puck says. “Remember, I told you my high school girlfriend turned out to be a _lesbian_. And I still made sure she was having a good time.” 

“Maybe when this has all settled down, you’ll have a chance to break your six-month streak, then,” Kurt says, giving Puck a thin smile. 

“Are you _sure_ you aren’t offering?” Puck asks. 

“I don’t think that would do very much for our professionalism.”

“ _I’m_ not worried about keeping Feels safe while we have some fun, too,” Puck says. “That worry is all you.” 

“Well, I don’t— I mean, it isn’t—” Kurt says, tripping over his words. 

Puck grins. “I’m just saying,” is all he adds, then falls silent, figuring he can give Kurt some time to turn all of that over in his head while they drive across Alabama. There isn’t a lot to see most of the time, just a lot of farms, and aside from a stop near Birmingham for pop and snacks, they make good time. After they cross the line into Georgia, Puck starts up a conversation again, this time solely about the nitty-gritty details in the file about Feels, and a little bit of speculation about what Hydra might be doing. 

By the time they approach Atlanta, Puck wants to stop and eat, but quickly decides that they should get out of the downtown area. “Pizza or a hamburger, right?” he asks Kurt. 

“The American dream,” Kurt replies. 

“Hamburgers it is,” Puck says, scanning the highway signs. “But not Steak ‘N Shake.” 

“No?”

“Too many times being denied a either milkshake or a burger,” Puck says with a laugh. “What about a Five Guys?” 

“That’s fine,” Kurt says. “You won’t be offended if I get bacon and cheese on mine?”

"As long as you aren't offended when I don't take a bite that's offered." Puck grins. "Always trying to sabotage me, huh?"

“Yes, that’s actually my mission.”

“I knew it,” Puck says, sighing dramatically. “Tell me which exit for Five Guys. Oh, and are we raising our kindergartner Jewish or multi-faith?” 

“Two-seventy-one, and I’m certain that’s one of the many topics we fight about constantly,” Kurt says. “I would personally prefer to raise her atheist.”

“Can you raise someone atheist?” Puck says curiously. “I mean, there aren’t exactly atheist services or dietary rules, right?” 

“I can raise her without religion, and isn’t that the same thing?”

“Yeah, but it’s not like an active thing?” Puck shrugs. “Here’s our exit. We can get a motel here or go on an exit or two more. It might be better to eat and sleep at different exits.” He sighs as he turns off the exit ramp. “In the worst case, Hydra’s going to realize we’ve abandoned the Shoebox somewhere between an hour and twelve hours from now.” 

“How long do you think we have in the best case?” Kurt asks. 

“Best? A week is as much as I’d hope for,” Puck admits. “A week before they realize we’ve left the Shoebox, I mean, so add in another few days’ lead. Even with the worst case, we’re going to _get_ to Feels first. Best case just lets us get fully away from Lima before they even put together that we went there, you know?” 

“Maybe they won’t find his file at all,” Kurt says. “We should have burned it.”

“If they have any kind of catalog of the files, though, they’ll notice what’s missing. If we don’t have it, it’s better that they don’t see anything special about it.” Puck parks the Jeep and shakes his head. “Too bad we still have the same Arizona plates.” 

“I can’t justify stealing someone else’s plates,” Kurt says.

“Yeah, me either,” Puck admits. “Or the risk.” He climbs out, then waits at the front of the Jeep before slinging his arm around Kurt’s shoulders. “C’mon, we can practice,” he says quietly. 

“Okay,” Kurt says, his shoulders going momentarily stiff under Puck’s arm before relaxing. 

“Fries?” Puck asks as they stand in line. He pulls Kurt a little closer to him with his arm, leaning towards him. “We can look cute,” he whispers. 

“Was that the subject of debate?”

“I’m just saying, don’t be afraid of it,” Puck says just before they order. Once Kurt’s paid, Puck grins at him. “Now I have to put out, huh?” 

“Ag— uh, Puck!” Kurt says, his cheeks turning pink. 

“Yes?” Puck says, his grin getting wider. “What is it, _Kurt_?”

“Not in public!”

“Well, yeah, we’d get arrested for public nudity,” Puck says. “Later tonight.” As he’s talking, a woman in her early 60s passes them and smiles, looking between their faces and Puck’s arm around Kurt. 

“So sweet,” she says softly, almost to herself, and Puck turns to Kurt, grinning triumphantly. 

“I guess we look cute,” Kurt whispers. 

“See, that wasn’t so painful, was it?” Their number is called, and Puck leads Kurt over to a table with their food. “Now, about that non-public nudity.” 

“Puck,” Kurt says softly, sitting down and not quite meeting Puck’s eyes.

“I’m just saying, you did buy me dinner,” Puck says, unwrapping one of the burgers and making a face. “And this would be yours.” He slides the burger towards Kurt, picking up the other one. 

“I can probably submit the receipt for reimbursement,” Kurt says, taking his burger. “Not soon, of course, but eventually.”

“Well, you know how to bring the romance,” Puck says wryly. “Reimbursing our date and everything.” 

“I told you I don’t know how to do this anymore!” Kurt says.

“So you agree that it _is_ a date,” Puck says, feeling smug as he takes a bite of his hamburger. 

“This is as much a date as I’m good at being ravaged,” Kurt says quietly. “I’m not good at this.”

“You’re probably just rusty. Three years’d make anyone rusty, as much as I applaud the dedication to your work.” Puck shrugs and takes another bite. “Sometimes it makes sense to prioritize other things for awhile. Sometimes it’s time to reorder your priorities.” 

“Isn’t Mr. Hudson our priority?”

“Yeah, he’s definitely a priority, but if we run this one like there’s still…” Puck trails off. “We’re potentially rogue at this point. We’re going to have to get civilian jobs to have an income. The rules changed, Kurt.” 

“I’m not prepared to write S.H.I.E.L.D. off permanently yet,” Kurt says in a low voice.

“Permanently? No.” Puck shakes his head. “But for the time being, our world’s narrowed to three.” 

“I’ll start looking for employment in the Chicago area, try to have something lined up before we get there,” Kurt says. 

“Do you think any of the elementary schools need an Arabic teacher _and_ a kindergarten teacher?” Puck says, making a face. “I mean, I can teach Spanish, don’t get me wrong, but I’d be much better doing a different language.” 

“A private school, maybe.”

“Oh, yeah, good point.” Puck takes a few more bites, studying Kurt. “Did you go to private schools? Before Stanford, I mean.” 

“Public schools, private tutors, and early college enrollment,” Kurt says. 

“I don’t think we had those last two in Bedford,” Puck says, feeling almost amused. “I mean, kids got tutoring if they weren’t going to pass to the next grade, but that was it. And the nearest college was up in Bloomington.” He shrugs. “It’s good you had access to all of that.” 

Kurt nods. “I was very lucky.”

“You ever wish you could actually _tell_ people from high school or whatever that you work—worked, I guess—for S.H.I.E.L.D. and what you do exactly?” Puck asks. “I don’t really go back, but sometimes I’ve been tempted.” 

“There’s really nobody from high school that I was close with,” Kurt says. “I haven’t kept in touch with anyone.”

“No, I mean the ones you _weren’t_ close with,” Puck says with a laugh. “I had a teacher tell me I’d flunk out of DePaul before my sophomore year. I’d love to rub it in her face, you know?” 

“I don’t think about any of them very much,” Kurt says. 

“Hopefully they don’t think about you, if Hydra goes poking around at some point,” Puck points out, finishing his burger and eating a few more fries. “Ready to find a place to crash for tonight?” He pauses and winks at Kurt. “ _Sweetie_?”

Kurt looks down at his plate abruptly. “Yes, that’s probably a good idea.”

Puck collects their trash, then puts his arm around Kurt’s shoulders again as they walk out. “Okay, _honey_?” he asks. “Better?”

Kurt raises his eyebrows and makes a small hum of agreement. “So, an exit or two north, do you think?”

“Probably one north is far enough, as long as there’s a motel or two there,” Puck says as they climb into the Jeep. “No Super 8 tonight, since that’s at this exit.” 

Kurt starts the Jeep and turns back onto the interstate, exiting at the next exit, just a few miles north. “Look like we have two choices,” he says. “Magnuson or Sleep Inn.”

“Magnuson sounds like an off-brand condom, and a little seedy,” Puck says. “Let’s go with Magnuson.” 

“Are you sure? Sleep Inn looks much cleaner,” Kurt says, turning into the adjoining parking lots.

“Where would _you_ ask first, if you were looking for two former S.H.I.E.L.D. agents?” Puck asks. “Probably Sleep Inn.” 

“Fine,” Kurt says, sighing loudly. He pulls into a spot on the side of the Magnuson. “Should I go inside this time?”

“Yeah, good idea,” Puck says with a small grin at the look of exasperation on Kurt’s face. It’s not quite as good as the huffy face, but it’s still pretty good. Kurt turns off the Jeep and walks into the front office. Puck runs over a list of potential nicknames in his head, trying to figure out if there’s any he thinks McDumber would have been more likely to use. After deciding on a few to try, he starts thinking about the imaginary kindergartner, which reminds him of a question he’s had in the back of his mind for years: if two S.H.I.E.L.D. agents procreate, are they more likely to get a super, just out of some kind of weird karma? Puck knows genetics shouldn’t work like that, but that’s why they call it superpowers, he figures. 

Kurt walks back towards the Jeep, looking resigned as he holds up a key card and gestures to the far side of the building. Puck gets out and grins. 

“Any continental breakfast here?” 

“No, and I wouldn’t eat it if they had it,” Kurt says. 

“Cool, we can eat Waffle House in the morning. As long as they don’t have bedbugs, we’re good,” Puck says, grabbing their packs from the back of the Jeep. “C’mon, sweetheart, it’s an adventure,” he says a little more loudly. 

“Bedbugs don’t factor into anything I’d call an adventure.”

“Live a little,” Puck jokes. “First or second floor?”

“First. In case we need to get out fast,” Kurt says.

“We should be able to make it all the rest of the way tomorrow,” Puck says quietly as Kurt unlocks the door to their room. “Then we just have to convince Feels to come with us.” 

“Easier said than done, maybe,” Kurt says. Once inside the room, he falls over onto the nearest of the two full beds with a loud groan. “I never want to drive again.”

“Need a back rub?” Puck offers, setting down their packs before locking the door and doing the same sweep of the room as he did the previous night. 

“I don’t even remember the last time I had a back rub,” Kurt says. 

“Well, take your shirt off,” Puck says. “Despite the Magnuson’s outward appearances, there’s some free lotion here, even.” 

“I wouldn’t typically do this,” Kurt says as he unbuttons his shirt. “It’s probably crossing that line between professional and personal, but if I’d spent another half hour in that car, I might have developed a permanent crick.”

“It’s just free lotion,” Puck says, trying not to laugh. “If you want, you can even have S.H.I.E.L.D. reimburse the motel later.” 

“I’ll keep a running tally,” Kurt says. He carefully folds his discarded shirt and puts it on the nightstand between the two beds. “Sitting up or lying down?”

“Lie down,” Puck says. “Bend your elbows just a little so your shoulders settle.” 

Kurt bends his elbows after he lies down, but his back still has visible tension in it, and when Puck puts his hand on Kurt’s back, he can tell that Kurt hasn’t relaxed at all. His back feels like iron covered by soft skin, and Puck shakes his head to himself. 

“What’s your favorite music?” Puck asks, leaving his hand on Kurt’s back, fingers spread, while he opens the lotion awkwardly with one hand. 

“Classical,” Kurt says, a little too quickly.

“Yeah, sing me a line of that,” Puck challenges. “I’ve heard you, you know. Singing along, but I can never make out what it is.” 

Kurt sighs softly. “Fine. I like showtunes and female pop singers.”

“So, like, _Fiddler_ and Madonna?” Puck asks, shaking the lotion onto Kurt’s back.

“Gaga. Beyonce.” Kurt sighs again. “Did you know she’s a potential asset?”

“Future ruler of the free world, right?” Puck jokes. “Hey, what if they did a remake of _Fiddler_ with Gaga, Beyonce, and Madonna?”

“Is the goal for me to relax or for me to curl up in a fetal position and cry?”

“Laugh, actually,” Puck says. “I was thinking maybe Michael Moore for Tevye. Can he sing?” 

“I have no idea,” Kurt says. 

“Or that guy that did that musical about the Nazis,” Puck says, slowly stroking his hands down Kurt’s back. “What’s a musical you _would_ want to see Beyonce in?” 

“ _Dreamgirls_ would be redundant, though I’d love to see the film cast on stage,” Kurt says. “ _Chicago_ , maybe.”

“Hey, that’s appropriate,” Puck says. “I don’t know what it’s about, though.” He flexes his fingers against Kurt’s back, smiling a little to himself that there’s a slight give to the muscles that wasn’t there before. “What’s your favorite musical?” 

“ _Wicked_.”

“Is it X-rated?” 

“What? No!” Kurt says. “It’s about the Wicked Witch of the West from _The Wizard of Oz_. The book it’s based on is abysmal, but the musical is wonderful.”

“Oh. Too bad.” Puck frowns and starts working his fingers at the edges of Kurt’s muscles. “So is _Chicago_ an appropriate choice or not for our… venture?” 

“I hope not, since it’s about women on death row in the nineteen-twenties,” Kurt says, then his back tenses again. “I’m sorry. I hope that topic doesn’t make you uncomfortable.”

“Women? Or law enforcement?” Puck asks, puzzled. 

“Prison,” Kurt says. “I read your file, and I’m not sure how much you really want to talk about that topic.”

“You read my file,” Puck says flatly, but his hands keep moving. “Let me guess. Back at the Shoebox, then had a good laugh?” 

“What? I didn’t laugh,” Kurt says. “I thought it would be prudent to know as much about you as possible. I assumed you’d do the same. It never would have occurred to me that you wouldn’t.”

“Uh-huh. No. I tend to rely more on interaction and observation. Admittedly, I’ve been heavy on the latter until the last few days,” Puck says. “But no. He made his choices. Like I said—he left.” 

Kurt’s back muscles bunch up as he props himself up and swivels his head towards Puck. “I’m so sorry. I just assumed— it just wouldn’t have crossed my mind that you wouldn’t—”

“Forget about it,” Puck says. “It’s— it’s not _fine_ , but it’s in the past. Like I’m sure my file said, he had a string of priors leading up to that one glorious evening in which he managed to commit at least four felonies in less than an hour. His plea deal let him avoid the death penalty, which is good—let him suffer for a long time. That’s dear old dad. I was seven. Most of what I know, I learned from the same sources that they used to make my file: old news stories.” 

“I’m so sorry,” Kurt says again, starting to sit up. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Just lie back down,” Puck says, pushing on Kurt’s back gently. “I guess that’s out there, at least. Anything I should know from your file?” 

“My life is mostly boring,” Kurt says, lying back down again. “My mother died when I was eight. She had cancer.”

“What kind?” Puck asks, moving his hands again, this time squeezing a little harder. “Did she have one of those weird ones that are worse in younger people?” 

Kurt nods slightly. “Inflammatory breast cancer. By the time they realized something was wrong, it was too late to do anything about it.”

“That sucks,” Puck says, because sometimes sympathy isn’t much help, and he knows that from experience. “So was it just you and your dad?”

“He wasn’t ever very good at dating,” Kurt says. “I guess that’s a heritable trait.”

Puck laughs for a few seconds. “No, I think that’s definitely a case of not learning the right behavior from a model. Or learning what isn’t the right behavior.” He digs his thumbs under Kurt’s shoulder blades, then works down Kurt’s spine. “This helping?” 

“Mmm. Yes. I should have started taking leave years ago just to go to a massage therapist,” Kurt says, his body relaxing even more. 

“Yeah, I think that’s the kind of leave request they _don’t_ grant,” Puck says with another laugh. “You just should have gotten me feeling sympathetic sooner, so I would have offered before now.” 

“I was too busy avoiding being in the same room with you more than absolutely necessary,” Kurt says. “That sounds terrible. I don’t mean it like that. Well, I do mean it like that, but not how it sounds, probably.”

“I had picked up on the avoidance part,” Puck says wryly. “Care to fill me in on the ‘why’, because I’ve already eliminated ‘neo-Nazi’ and ‘hates Specialists’ from the list.” 

“Professionalism.”

“It’s professional to… ignore your co-workers?” Puck asks. 

“It’s professional to not have, um. Attractions. To your co-workers,” Kurt says. 

“Hmm.” Puck keeps massaging Kurt’s back, then leans forward, his head only a few inches from Kurt’s. “Did it work?” 

“Did I ever stop avoiding you?”

“Maybe you needed a new technique,” Puck says. “Or a new goal.” 

“I thought they’d transfer you away eventually,” Kurt says. “I had been there almost three years alone, so I assumed your assignment was temporary.”

“It was, but not in the way you thought. Or a way that I understood at first,” Puck admits. He straightens again, moving his hands to a different part of Kurt’s back. “You needed me there once S.H.I.E.L.D. fell. Until then, my orders were to wait, basically.” 

As Puck’s hands move, Kurt makes a noise that Puck associates with sex, not massage. “It’s good you were there,” Kurt murmurs. “I’m glad.”

“Now you’re stuck with me, sugar,” Puck says, half-grinning. “Uptight, huh? I don’t think so.” 

“No?” Kurt asks in a low voice. 

“Maybe I’m misunderstanding the word,” Puck says, his tone clear that he doesn’t think he is, “but no.” He digs his thumbs in the same place again, and Kurt makes the same sexy-noise, less inhibited. “Feel good?” he asks quietly. 

“Yes. So good.” 

“Anywhere else you want my hands?” Puck asks in the same quiet voice, almost holding his breath. 

“Anywhere you want to put them,” Kurt says languidly. 

“ _Anywhere_?” Puck repeats. “I might take you up on that.” 

“Do you do everything as well as you do back massage?” Kurt asks.

“Better,” Puck says, a little challenge in his voice. 

“Show me?”

Puck slides his hands up to Kurt’s neck and squeezes gently. “Turn over.” Kurt rolls onto his back, looking up at Puck with unfocused eyes. Puck grins, running his hands over Kurt’s shoulders and upper arms before leaning down and kissing Kurt solidly. Kurt makes a little whimper into Puck’s mouth as his lips part under Pucks, and he puts one hand on the back of Puck’s neck, holding him in place. 

Puck keeps kissing Kurt almost slowly, pushing his tongue gradually into Kurt’s mouth and running one hand down Kurt’s side. There’s just enough lotion residue left on Puck’s hand that it practically glides, and he slips his arm under Kurt’s lower back, lifting Kurt just barely off the bed while they continue kissing. 

Kurt’s free hand pushes under Puck’s shirt, tracing across his back. His tongue slides along Puck’s as he kisses harder. Puck spreads his fingers wide on Kurt’s back, pulling him closer, and then rolls his hips down just enough to make contact with Kurt’s. The noise Kurt makes borders on obscene as he pushes his own hips up, pressing against Puck. 

Puck balances himself for a moment before reaching between them with his other hand, wiggling his fingers to the front of Kurt’s pants. He strokes Kurt’s cock through the fabric three or four times before starting to try to unfasten Kurt’s pants with just one hand. Kurt’s hand joins Puck’s on Kurt’s fly, helping undo the button and letting Puck slide the zipper down. Once Kurt’s pants are unfastened, Kurt’s hand moves to Puck’s jeans, tugging at the fly ineffectually. 

“Patience,” Puck mutters against Kurt’s mouth. “Aren’t you going to let me put my hands and mouth a few more places?” 

“Three years,” Kurt says, kissing Puck between the words. “No patience.”

“None?” Puck says, sliding his hand down Kurt’s pants and inside his underwear, wrapping his fingers around Kurt’s cock. “Not even if I switch my hand and my mouth right now?” 

“I can try,” Kurt says, still tugging at the front of Puck’s jeans. “I’d try harder if you help me.”

Puck laughs and moves his hand from Kurt’s back. “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

Kurt pulls at the front of Puck’s jeans until the button pops open, then he fumbles for the zipper, pulling it down roughly. He pulls Puck back down with gentle pressure on the back of his neck, kissing him again. Puck keeps his hand on Kurt’s cock, moving it slowly up and down as they kiss. After another few minutes, Puck pulls back, kissing down Kurt’s neck and chest. 

Kurt shoves his hand down the front of Puck’s pants, cupping Puck’s cock through the boxerbriefs Kurt bought him at Walmart. Puck rocks his hips down, still kissing Kurt’s chest, and he moves his hand a little more quickly. “Good?” he mutters against Kurt’s skin. 

“Yes,” Kurt says. “So good.”

“If you’re sure,” Puck teases, kissing a little lower before he moves his hands to Kurt’s pants, tugging them down before working Kurt’s underwear lower. 

“I’m sure. Believe me, I’m sure,” Kurt says, stroking Puck’s cock with his fingertips until Puck moves too far down, his other hand sliding up to the back of Puck’s head. 

“Yeah, I thought so,” Puck agrees, wrapping one hand around Kurt’s cock again, but loosely at the base, and then Puck slides lips across the very tip before taking it in his mouth, his eyes flickering between the part of Kurt right in front of him and Kurt’s face, Kurt’s own eyes watching Puck. 

“Oh my god,” Kurt says softly, his eyes never leaving Puck’s face. Puck grins as much as he can, slowly taking more of Kurt’s cock in his mouth and noting that his initial suspicion is correct, that Kurt is uncut. Puck moves his hand very slowly, his tongue around Kurt’s cock as his mouth slides up and down. Kurt moans, the hand not on the back of Puck’s head coming to rest on Puck’s shoulder blade. “Oh my god, Puck. You weren’t wrong. You’re better.”

Puck laughs around Kurt, which makes him moan and thrust up slightly into Puck’s mouth. Puck puts his other hand on Kurt’s ass, squeezing it and holding it almost carefully as he keeps working his mouth and hand on Kurt’s cock, listening to Kurt’s moans and the sexy-noise, both of which keep getting louder. Puck slowly pulls back after a few more moments, looking up at Kurt. 

“This how you want to come?” he asks. “Or did you have something else in mind?” He grins. “Or both?”

“No?” Kurt says, then, “Yes? Maybe? Three years, Puck.”

“Maybe I’ll just wake you up in the middle of the night,” Puck says jokingly, even though it’s always a possibility, and then he puts his mouth back on Kurt’s cock, moving it faster as he squeezes Kurt’s ass. 

“You won’t think badly of me if I don’t last much longer?” Kurt asks, his voice a little gaspy.

Puck would laugh, but instead he barely shakes his head, squeezing Kurt’s ass again and running his tongue across the tip of Kurt’s cock as his lips move. Kurt makes the sexy-noise again, his hips jerking upward, and comes with a full-body shudder into Puck’s mouth. Puck slowly moves his hands to Kurt’s hips and then kisses his way up to Kurt’s mouth, keeping his lips pressed against the skin below Kurt’s ear. 

“Better than the massage, huh?” Puck whispers. 

“Yes,” Kurt says, exhaling as his whole body goes limp. “More relaxing, too.”

“Yeah, that part I got,” Puck says, propping himself up over Kurt and leaning down to kiss him again. “Hope you don’t mind a cuddler.” 

“Oh. I guess I don’t,” Kurt says. “I haven’t ever been with a cuddler.”

“Well, that sucks,” Puck says, awkwardly working his jeans down a little more. “I think I get cold or something, sometimes. So I cuddle.” 

“Oh. I guess that’s okay,” Kurt says. He rolls a little more onto his side and reaches for Puck’s cock again. “Just cuddle?”

“I didn’t say cuddle _yet_.” 

“Good, because I’m not ready to cuddle yet,” Kurt says. His hand wraps around Puck’s cock and starts moving in long, regular strokes. 

“I’m not complaining,” Puck says jokingly, keeping himself propped up on one arm. “Pretty good plan.” 

“I’m horribly out of practice, so let me know if there’s something you like,” Kurt says. 

Puck laughs and kisses Kurt’s neck. “I don’t think cocks changed any time recently, Kurt.” 

“Probably not, but there’s still the question of what you like.”

“We’ll save the kinky shit for later,” Puck says in a whisper, thrusting down into Kurt’s hand. “How do you have _no_ paper cuts? Your hand’s so smooth.” 

“I moisturize,” Kurt says. 

“Uh-huh,” Puck says with a little grunt, moving into Kurt’s hand again. “Sure that’s it?” 

“I also have naturally soft hands,” Kurt says. He tightens his hand slightly, moving in faster, shorter strokes. “Your hands are nice, too, though.”

“I don’t moisturize,” Puck says with a short laugh. “First lotion that’s been on them in awhile.” He leans up just enough to kiss Kurt, a little harder than before as he thrusts down faster before coming, his lips still on Kurt’s. Puck keeps himself propped up as long as he can, then flops down, half on the bed and half on top of Kurt, his arm curling up over Kurt. 

“I think we won’t have any trouble pretending to be in a relationship,” Kurt says, sounding amused. “We’re compatible in one way, at least.”

Puck laughs, a little sleepily. “Just got to figure that Judaism versus atheism thing out, and we’re all set.” 

“I think we should wait until she’s old enough to make an informed decision on her own,” Kurt says. He yawns and shifts slightly, so his head is tucked against Puck’s shoulder. “This is nice.”

“Cuddlers are a rare but awesome breed,” Puck says, closing his eyes. “’Night, Kurt.” 

“Goodnight, Agent Puckerman,” Kurt says. “Puck.”

 

**[Agent K. Hummel, S.H.I.E.L.D., Mobile Operations, Report 3, 0500 Hours]**

_Can’t really pretend these reports are going to be turned in to anyone, so keeping records for my own benefit at this point. Also can’t pretend that what’s between Agent Puckerman and myself is ‘professional’ in any capacity. We were told ‘trust no one’, but I have to trust him. He’s my only backup, my only ally, my only friend. I have to trust him._

**[End Journal Entry]**


	8. Chapter 8

Puck wakes up before Kurt, which he thinks might be a first in the entire three months since he met Kurt at the Shoebox. He doesn’t slide out of bed right away, because if he’d woken up to a half-empty bed, he’d have been pretty upset. Instead, he lies there, cataloging in his head the rest of their trip to Lima and the types of stops they should make and avoid. Hydra could be aware that Puck and Kurt aren’t at the Shoebox by now, and Puck knows they have to be a little more careful. 

Even the motel they’re at; Puck knows they can’t choose a motel with only one entrance again. They’ll be fine through breakfast, Puck thinks, but after this, they need to pick the huge exits with multiple gas stations, multiple fast food restaurants, and some major retail, too, if they can manage to find that. It’s less than a day’s drive to Lima, but being made _now_ would probably give away who they’re trying to reach. 

When the clock goes from 5:44 to 5:45, Puck rolls towards Kurt. “Let’s get out of here before sun-up,” he whispers. 

“Do we have to?” Kurt says, turning his face against the pillow.

“Pretty much? Yeah,” Puck says with a sigh. “We can sleep in once we’re in Chicago.” 

“It’s not so much the sleep,” Kurt says. “I’m awake, though. We should go.”

“Sleeping in does imply a bed,” Puck points out. He squeezes Kurt’s shoulder with his hand and kisses his neck, then rolls into a sitting position. “Are we vacationers still today? We could be returning from Orlando.” 

“I did buy you some black socks to wear with your sandals,” Kurt says.

Puck laughs. “I don’t look _that_ old, do I?”

“I was striving for authenticity!” Kurt insists.

“Wait a second, that wasn’t a no!” 

“It wasn’t a yes, but it also wasn’t a promise that I didn’t also buy you a Hawaiian floral shirt, either.”

“You know, I had managed to _leave_ the midwest,” Puck says, pulling out a pair of shorts from Walmart but pairing them with a plain grey shirt that he packed himself. “We’ll get Waffle House and then get going. You good to drive the first leg?” 

“I think I can manage,” Kurt says. He puts on a pair of khaki shorts and a light-weight white button-up that looks like it might be linen. “Touristy enough?”

“Yeah, probably,” Puck says. “Maybe we can make Kentucky by lunchtime. We should have a whispered conversation in the Waffle House that looks like we’re arguing over exits or a map or something.” 

“We should buy a paper map at a gas station at this exit,” Kurt suggests. 

“The Rite Aid across the street,” Puck says. “A paper map at a gas station when everyone has phone maps? Too much attention.” 

“True. Maybe we need a burner phone, too.”

“Probably. Map first. Phone later. It’s good that 75’s the busiest interstate, at least. We’re much less likely to stand out.” 

“Though I was thinking we might also want to consider taking a state route to north of Lima, and then approach it on 75 southbound,” Kurt says.

“Yeah, we’ll go past it first,” Puck says, nodding. “I hate not having credentials. We can’t stop and ask anyone anything.” 

“We’ll make it work. You’ve got fieldwork experience.”

“Do you think other agents are doing the same kind of thing?” Puck says. “I keep going back over people I’ve met.” He closes his pack and shoulders it. “How many of them were Hydra?”

“It makes me glad, in a way, that I never really got to know anyone,” Kurt says. “I can’t imagine what it would be like to be betrayed by someone you’ve been stationed with for years. It would’ve been horrible if you’d turned out to be Hydra.”

“Yeah.” Puck sighs and walks the perimeter of the room. “It’s weird, but I’m almost glad Fury doesn’t know how bad it was.” Kurt silently nods his agreement. “Okay. Ready?” 

“Yes. Back to the mission,” Kurt says. 

Puck frowns a little to himself, throwing his arm around Kurt as they leave the room and leaving it there until they climb into the Jeep. He replaces it when they head into the Waffle House, and Puck lowers his voice once they’re seated. 

“You realize there’s no compartmentalization now.” 

“Can I tell you something?” Kurt asks.

“Go for it,” Puck says. 

“I think we abandoned compartmentalization when we realized it was us against Hydra,” Kurt says softly. “It’s either trust no one or trust each other completely, right?”

“More or less, yeah,” Puck says. “If we meet up with anyone who’s Hydra, one of us’ll hold ’em and the other can punch.” 

“You may have to hold _and_ punch,” Kurt says. “I can look on sternly.”

“Kick?” Puck suggests, then breaks off and looks up at the server, rattling off his order. 

“Sure.”

“Maybe if we have time, we can cut off a finger or something,” Puck says quietly once the server walks away. 

“Ew, nothing bloody, please!” Kurt says, shuddering. 

“I’ll put a baggie around the hand first,” Puck promises. 

“Acceptable,” Kurt says. 

“And then I’ll mail the finger to Pierce.”

“Also acceptable,” Kurt says. “As long as I don’t have to touch it.”

“I promise not to make you touch any Hydra fingers.” Puck pauses. “Or anything else Hydra that I chop off.” 

“This partnership is working out quite well, I think,” Kurt says. He slides his hand across the booth’s seat, resting it lightly on top of Puck’s, his fingers lightly tracing over the back of Puck’s.

Puck grins. “Does that mean after we get Feels safe, I can go _find_ a Hydra agent? I think it’d be therapeutic.” 

“Therapeutic, maybe. Wise? I think not.”

“Not _in_ Chicago,” Puck says, then laughs very softly. “See, we’re having a discussion for our audience even without a map.” He flips his hand over and grabs Kurt’s, squeezing it. 

“Good to know I’m not so bad at fieldwork, afterall,” Kurt says, smiling as he looks down at their joined hands. 

“You definitely have promise.” Puck bumps his shoulder against Kurt’s. “I’ll still feel better if we get you into a range to practice at some point.” 

“Agreed,” Kurt says, sighing dramatically.

Puck grins a little, kissing Kurt’s ear just before the food arrives, and they eat quickly without additional conversation. After they finish, Puck frowns at the bill, trying to decide what amount of tip will make sure they don’t stand out as bad or good tippers either one. 

“Here,” Kurt says, taking the bill and pen from him and quickly scribbling in a number. “Twenty-two percent.”

“Don’t you think that’s high?” Puck says. “No booze.” 

“No. A gay couple would be expected to tip higher, but twenty-two percent isn’t so high that it’s memorable,” Kurt explains. 

“And here we are, unemployed,” Puck says dramatically, grinning at Kurt as he stands up. “You think we qualify for food stamps or anything? Severance package?” 

“I think it’s best we don’t look to the government for aid, at least in the short-term,” Kurt says. “Not when we’re hiding from the people who infiltrated them.”

“Food bank, then,” Puck says almost flippantly before heading to the counter to pay. After paying and leaving the twenty-two percent tip, he puts his arm around Kurt again for the short walk to the Jeep. Kurt leans into him as they walk, and seems a little reluctant to separate to move to the driver’s side.

“We’ll try to make it to Kentucky before we stop again,” Kurt says. 

“No point in getting there before the school day ends, though,” Puck says after they’re both in the Jeep and the doors are locked. “Feels probably wouldn’t leave his class even if we went in and insisted—which we’re not going to do.” 

“It’ll give us a chance to scope out the rest of the town, make a more strategic approach,” Kurt says. 

“Too bad he’s such a nice guy. If he weren’t, I wouldn’t feel guilty at all about just scooping him up and leaving.” Puck shakes his head as Kurt starts the Jeep. “At least with that resume, finding a new job at a school willing to leave him off their website shouldn’t be that hard.” 

“One would hope.”

Puck spends most of Georgia and Tennessee tuning the radio, occasionally listening to the news and sometimes passing it in search of decent music. Without construction or accidents, they really do make it to Kentucky without stopping again, and before lunch. 

“Lunch in Lexington?” Puck jokes. “Maybe… lasagna.” 

“Latin cuisine? Lebanese?” Kurt counters. 

“Lentils, maybe in a curry.”

“Lebanese lentils for lunch in Lexington,” Kurt says. “It’s good to know we’ve lost our professionalism in literally every aspect of our lives, save our pursuit of Mr. Hudson.”

“ _Luckily_ , S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn’t require their formulated meals during fieldwork,” Puck says. “Even if they were still whole.” 

“I know what’s in them. Would you like me to tell you?” Kurt offers.

“Since I’m probably never going to eat one again… no,” Puck finishes. 

“I’ll make sure to tell you some day, though,” Kurt says, “especially since I know exactly how many you ate during your assignment at the Shoebox.” 

“I thought maybe you were done being cruel to me,” Puck says with a sigh. “But no. Black socks with sandals and what was in the food. Hydra’s welcome to those, anyway.” 

“I unplugged the fridge,” Kurt says. 

“Yeah?” Puck grins. “When? I didn’t notice that.” 

“I am also an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D., thank you very much.”

“Oh, I’m not underestimating you,” Puck says. “I hope there was plenty of milk and vegetables in there.” 

“It should be ripe by the time they get in there, yes,” Kurt says, smiling smugly.

“It’s just too bad we couldn’t poison them, too,” Puck says with an almost happy sigh. “Do we tell Feels we’re former S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

“Maybe not at first,” Kurt says. “Though, it might be better to just get it out there. If we lie to him, too, there isn’t much to differentiate us from them, as far as he would see.”

“Good point. And the fact that we’re not trying to take him to a specific person should be in our favor, too. Right?” 

“Right. He seems like a genuinely decent person, so as long as we demonstrate the same degree of integrity, I think we can get him to agree to go underground,” Kurt says.

“I just hope he doesn’t get upset about what he’s been doing,” Puck admits. “If he’s a good guy, he might feel guilty.” 

“And then we might feel guilty,” Kurt says. “We’re going to have to find some sort of work-around, if there is one. Determine how close in proximity he has to be for our emotions to be affected.”

“Maybe after we make initial contact, he’d agree to a telephone call. We can buy two phones just for that call,” Puck says thoughtfully. “Eventually, we’ll have to figure out a better solution, if we’re all in one apartment.”

“Or we’ll just be the happiest former S.H.I.E.L.D. agents in Chicago.”

“Until one of us accidentally locks Feels out, and then we’re lying in bed and suddenly getting angry,” Puck says wryly. 

“Oh, were you planning on there being a lot of lying in bed? Together?” Kurt asks.

“Well, I’m sure you wouldn’t forget and lock Feels out unless it was a _very_ good reason,” Puck says with a very small grin. 

“So, not a three-bedroom place, then?” Kurt says. “Moving a little fast, aren’t we?”

“Oh, were you planning on objecting?” Puck asks. 

“I just want to make sure we know what we feel before we walk into this,” Kurt says.

“No supers around right now, unless you’re holding out on me,” Puck says. “The way I figure it, with a lot of uncertain things, having one sure thing is good, right?”

“This might get very clouded later on. I just want us to know what’s real, what’s not.”

“We’re probably the only real things,” Puck says. “I don’t know what it’s going to look like in Chicago. I don’t know how closely we’re going to have to stick with Feels. I don’t know if we’re ever going to manage a date that wouldn’t technically qualify for reimbursement. I just know I trust you.” 

“And I trust you,” Kurt says. “At this point in time, you’re the only one.”

“That’s pretty huge, now,” Puck says quietly. “Not that it wasn’t before, but it is even more so now.” 

Kurt nods his agreement. “Then we know where we stand, and anything that feels suddenly different from that isn’t us.”

“Or more intensely. Feels might decide he trusts _us_. Actually, he does need to trust us at least marginally.” 

“Hopefully he doesn’t like us too much,” Kurt says. “That could complicate things.”

“We are likable individuals. Time for Lebanese lentils?” 

“Or maybe some Mexican.”

“I don’t think Mexican restaurants have lentils, but fajitas do sound good,” Puck admits.

“And I can get cheese and sour cream on the side,” Kurt says. “No shrimp.”

“Or we can get chicken fajitas?” Puck says. “Workaround.” 

“Nice,” Kurt says. 

“No one’s ever made chicken milk, thankfully,” Puck says with a shrug. The two of them do have chicken fajitas, and when they cross out of Kentucky into Ohio, Puck can feel his entire body tensing. 

“I wish we had access to a range or a dojo or something,” Puck confesses once they’re above Cincinnati. 

“Do we need to find a range to stop at?” Kurt asks.

“I don’t think we can afford catching anyone’s eye like that. I’d hope they could tell I’m a professional, you know? So then they’re going to get curious.”

“I’m sorry. I should’ve taken you up on your offer back at the Shoebox,” Kurt says. “You kept trying. I kept shutting you down.”

“I did occasionally have ulterior motives,” Puck says. “I’m sure I could have found _something_ about your stance to help you with.” 

“Oh really? You’d have done the hands-on-my-hips trick?” Kurt sounds amused by the idea.

“Pfft, no. I was going to go straight for hands over yours, my hips against yours,” Puck says, grinning over at Kurt. “You think you might need some assistance like that?” 

“I _can_ shoot, Agent Puckerman,” Kurt says, his lips curving into a small smile. “I had to certify, just like you did.”

“Oh, I’m sure you certified,” Puck says. “I’m just saying I could help you _optimize_ your shooting stance.” 

“Is that what you could optimize?” Kurt asks. 

“I could optimize a lot of things, _Agent_.”

“We’ll have to find a range in Chicago, then,” Kurt says. “Until then, why don’t you tell me what else you could optimize?”

“While you’re driving?” Puck asks. “Adventurous of you.” Puck reaches across to put his hand on Kurt’s leg. “Are you sure this is the best setting for me to tell you?”

“You were the one concerned about getting there too early.”

Puck grins. “Yeah, but we should get there without being arrested for indecent exposure at a rest area.” 

“But if Mr. Hudson doesn’t trust us, it might be a chilly next few days,” Kurt complains. 

“So you _were_ lying to me before,” Puck says triumphantly, squeezing Kurt’s leg.

“What?” Kurt says. “I wasn’t lying about anything!”

“That you ‘don’t even miss it anymore’?” Puck says. 

“I wasn’t lying. I was remembering incorrectly.”

Puck laughs. “Let me guess. You’re _never_ going to be wrong?” 

“Puck, I was hired by S.H.I.E.L.D. for my impeccable attention to detail and ability to remember and categorize facts,” Kurt says. “Of course I’m never going to be wrong.”

“Yeah, but you’re forgetting something important.” 

“Oh?”

“I’m not a fact,” Puck says with a grin. 

“You don’t think I’ve been remembering and categorizing everything about you?” Kurt asks. “You doubt my impeccable attention to details about you?”

“Oh, I’m sure you can already figure out how I eat my fajitas regardless of restaurant,” Puck says with a grin. “But I’m still a person overall. You might get my motivation or something wrong sometime, you know.” 

“I guess we’ll see. I might have been a little obsessed with you, back at the Shoebox.”

“Did you forget to bring the obsession?” Puck teases. 

“I don’t have to obsess anymore,” Kurt explains. “I obsess when I _don’t_ want to think about something.”

“Wait, so you think about something less when you actually want to think about it?” 

“Obsessing isn’t thinking. Obsessing is going over trivial details repetitively to avoid thinking,” Kurt says. 

“Oh, I guess I’ve never done that,” Puck says, then shakes his head. “No, okay, I get it. It’s like going over a set of exercises for combat or martial arts or something, over and over.”

“Yes, though I imagine that’s primarily for muscle memory, and this is to block out the more, ah. Pressing details that I didn’t want to focus on,” Kurt says, smiling ruefully in Puck’s direction.

“Well, yeah, muscle memory, but after it’s at least a little in there? It’s a mental focus, too.” Puck squeezes Kurt’s leg again. “Pressing, huh?” 

“Perhaps you’ve never paid attention to your shirtless chest,” Kurt says. “I have.”

“Oh, I’ve paid attention to it, but from the perspective of keeping it looking like this. And taking off my shirt.” 

“Do you do it intentionally to be distracting?”

“You’re the one who cataloged my habits,” Puck says. “Do you think so?” 

“Yes, I do,” Kurt says. “Just like your incorrect refiling was intentionally irritating.”

“At least you know I was paying attention to you,” Puck says. “Could I have picked anything _more_ attention-getting than those two?” 

“No. Not really.”

“I told you. Interaction and observation.” Puck grins. “We should get off at the next exit to circle Lima.” 

“I’m simultaneously excited and terrified about this mission,” Kurt says. “I never really thought that I’d be going after an asset myself.”

“It’d be a lot easier if initial contact had been made before everything went off-track,” Puck admits. “On the other hand, at least he didn’t trust someone who turned out to be Hydra?”

“True.”

“Once we’re off the interstate, we should drive to his address and look around the area, then go to the school to observe him. We’re not going to be able to switch vehicles or do much in the way of disguises, so I think sunglasses are about our only tool.” 

“I didn’t pack any sunglasses, now that I think about it,” Kurt says.

“Yeah, you did,” Puck says with a grin. “I packed them.” 

“Ooh, excellent!” Kurt smiles at Puck as they exit the interstate. 

“We’ll dig them out before we get back on 75 in a bit.” Puck looks around as they keep heading north, more or less parallel to the interstate. “This is a lot like high school, suddenly.” 

“Oh? How so?”

“Ohio, Indiana, it all looks more or less the same. Different names on the hardware stores, different faces at the convenience stores, is all.” 

“A hell I am thankful I was spared,” Kurt says, shuddering slightly.

“Hey, some of us have to have the super-cool origin story of overcoming the midwest,” Puck says with a laugh. “You should work on your tan now that you’re out of the Shoebox. Cultivate a California surfer persona.” 

“Oh yes, that’s definitely me,” Kurt says. “I just exude an air of California surfer.”

“Slightly different haircut, a little bit of color—maybe spray tan to start it off—and less formality when you talk. Since we’ll be in Chicago, it’s not like you have to prove the skill.” 

“What’s wrong with how I talk?”

“Nothing, for someone who went to Stanford and is crazy smart,” Puck says. “But it’s a little formal for a surfer.” 

“You think I’m crazy smart?” Kurt asks.

“Private tutors? Stanford? Uh, yeah. And that’s not including what I’ve seen you _do_.” 

“It’s still nice to hear,” Kurt says. “That’s not usually the phrase people use to describe me.”

“You’re also kind of loud, but that’s probably not what you were talking about,” Puck says with a grin. 

“I’m not loud,” Kurt insists.

“I am not saying it’s a bad thing,” Puck says firmly. 

“Hmph,” Kurt says. “So, we won’t approach him at the school, but where? Follow him for a while and try the supermarket?”

“Yeah, anywhere he stops after school that isn’t a convenience store, I think,” Puck says, letting the loud-or-not discussion drop for the time being. “Maybe he’ll do us a favor and be a Walmart shopper.” 

“Do you have a strategy for this type of thing?”

“Hope we don’t get noticed. Try to put him at ease. Reassure him that all we want is for him to be safe. I’ve never done an initial contact.” 

“Really? I mean, I knew it wasn’t in your file, but I thought…” Kurt looks apologetic.

“Secondary and tertiary contacts, covers, surveillance, combat in close quarters, and obviously languages,” Puck says. “I can read lips decently well for about half of the languages I speak. And like a recruiter told me, I blend in well with groups of large people. It’s a nice way of saying I don’t stick out.” 

“The recruiter clearly didn’t see you shirtless.”

Puck grins. “I’ve never tried to blend in at a gym, come to think of it.” 

“We won’t have access to the Shoebox facilities when we’re in Chicago,” Kurt says. “You might have to join a gym.”

“I’ll make sure to find one where my abs are nothing spectacular, then,” Puck says. “Even though that could be tough.” 

“I suppose you could let yourself slide a little,” Kurt says.

“That doesn’t sound fun for anyone riding in this Jeep, does it?”

“Not really, no, but sacrifices must be made on occasion.”

Puck laughs. “My abs rate so high as to be a sacrifice? I can go along with that. Turn left.” 

“They’d be a sacrifice for me, anyway,” Kurt says, making the turn. “I’ve grown accustomed to having them paraded around at least twice daily.”

“I’m sure there’s no real reason to wear a shirt inside our own apartment,” Puck says innocently enough. “Interstate’s up ahead.” 

“Our kindergarten teacher may feel otherwise.”

“I didn’t say _naked_ ,” Puck says. “It might make him happy. You never know.” 

“We’ll find out, either way,” Kurt says. 

“We’ll find out a lot of things. As long as he doesn’t have a flatulence issue, we can probably overcome most other things,” Puck says with a grin. 

“Maybe we could rent a place with a guest house,” Kurt suggests.

“In Chicago? How far outside the city are we going?” Puck says. “We’ll just have to rename him. Farts instead of Feels.” 

“Oh my god, stop!”

“You don’t like it?” Puck asks, faking chagrin. “I thought we should keep the first letter the same.” 

“Oh look, the interstate!” Kurt exclaims. 

“We can revisit the discussion later,” Puck says, grinning as Kurt steers back onto I–75, this time heading southbound. “It’s Independence Elementary, you said?” 

“Yes. Very patriotic.”

“So we want Exit 127, then,” Puck says, staring at the map. “Maybe once we get to Chicago we can just get new phones.” 

“Good plan,” Kurt says. “You’re just full of good ideas, except for the ‘Farts’ thing.”

“As long as Mr. Finn Hudson doesn’t eat too many beans, it won’t matter,” Puck says practically. “This town is depressing-looking. It’s amazing Feels is so happy.” 

“Maybe he’s just one of those naturally happy people,” Kurt says.

“That would make our job easier, and Hydra’s potential plans that much harder, at least,” Puck says. “Okay, that’s the school up there. Looks normal enough.” 

“Hopefully that’s a good sign, then,” Kurt says. “He drives a navy F-150, license plate FLL zero-two-four-four.”

“We can let him keep the truck for now, as long as we can get Illinois plates,” Puck says, scanning the parking lot. “There, under a tree. Far away from the entrance, suggesting he lets other people park in the closer spots, but also that he likes keeping the interior out of the sun.” 

“Well, we know why they vote him teacher of the year,” Kurt says. 

“Genuinely nice guy, I guess. Looks like school's already out. We should park on the street and wait for him to leave.”

That’s what they do, finding a spot that lets them see any potential exit, but the downside is that they can’t actually see the parking lot that well, so Puck and Kurt don’t get a visual on Feels before the blue truck turns onto the street about fifteen minutes later, turning away from them. Kurt lets one other car turn onto the road before them before pulling out, keeping enough distance between their Jeep and the blue truck that they shouldn’t be particularly noticeable, but no so much that they could lose track of Feels. 

“We’ll just follow him for a while,” Kurt says. “See if he goes straight home or if he makes other stops along the way.”

“Grand tour of Lima,” Puck jokes, then both of them are quiet as they follow the blue truck for seven or eight minutes. The right-hand turn signal comes on, which Puck takes as more evidence for Feels being some kind of paragon, and then the truck turns into the McDonald’s, heading straight for the drive-through. “Pull into a spot on the far side,” Puck says quickly. “We’ll at least get a look at him.” 

Kurt nods, driving around to the far side and backing into the spot. When Feels’ truck rounds the turn for the drive-through speaker, they can see him through the passenger side window.

“Oh. He really is quite attractive,” Kurt says, sounding more impressed than interested. 

“Oh, you think so?” Puck says jokingly. “Maybe this is why you were in the Shoebox. I can’t take you anywhere.” 

“What? I didn’t mean it like that!” Kurt insists. “I meant it probably wasn’t just his abilities that made people like him!”

Puck laughs. “You’re just digging yourself in deeper,” he says, watching the truck proceed to both windows. The worker hands Feels a pop and what Puck suspects is an apple pie, and then Feels leaves the parking lot, continuing down the road again. “You think he’s taking his snack home?” 

“Looks like it,” Kurt says. “It’s that direction.” He points in the direction Feels is turning. 

“Should we keep going and circle back in another mile or so?” Puck says. “Unless we want to talk to him right now, at his home.” 

Kurt frowns as he continues following the truck from a good distance back. “The longer we wait, the greater the chance for Hydra to get to him first.”

“Let’s give him thirty minutes,” Puck says. “We can find a place and change, look more professional before we approach him.” 

Kurt nods. “Do we want to take a risk with a hotel?” he asks.

“No,” Puck says, shaking his head. “We’re too close. If they lose our trail in Lima, it could be good for us. Let’s find a mall.” 

“Okay.” 

As Feels turns down a side street and into a driveway three houses down, Kurt keeps driving straight. It takes about ten minutes to find the Lima Mall and park in the most crowded part of the parking lot, and they head in together before separating to different bathrooms. On the way back out of the mall, Puck stops at the cookie stand and gets a dozen cookies and two pops. 

When Puck walks towards the Jeep, he laughs a little at his and Kurt’s different interpretation of ‘professional’. Kurt is back in a suit and tie, and Puck’s dressed how he was most days at the Shoebox, a cross between a gym rat and a Marine, but both of them have on their vests under their clothes, even if most people wouldn’t realize Kurt has his on. The guns hidden in their concealed holsters are probably not most people’s idea of professional dress, either. “Professional, huh?” he says, offering Kurt one of the pops. 

“I thought that’s what we agreed on,” Kurt says, eyeing Puck critically.

“I guess we forgot to decide whose profession,” Puck says with a grin. “It’ll either put Feels at ease or confuse him, but your guess is as good as mine.” 

“It will have to do,” Kurt says. “Maybe we should have had a discussion about these details.”

“Hey, we each have our strengths,” Puck says as they get back in the Jeep, and he opens the box to remove a cookie, then offers the box to Kurt. “If we’re going to let Feels keep the truck, we need to either buy a trailer or plan on one of us driving it.” 

“Could be tactical advantages to either.”

“We’ll see if he’s the kind of guy to get fussy about someone else driving his truck. I don’t like getting attention for the trailer, but I’d like even less for us to get split up,” Puck says as they retrace the route to Feels’ house. Kurt steers the Jeep down the road and Puck gestures silently for Kurt to drive past it once, even though he can’t explain why he’s quiet. 

“Make the block?” Kurt asks.

“Yeah,” Puck says, glancing at the truck and the two windows facing the street. “Park two doors down.” 

“Okay,” Kurt says, continuing around the block, passing the house again, and then parking at the curb two houses down. “How should we approach this?”

“We’ll just have to be straight with him,” Puck says. “We can’t let him think Hydra’s only a theoretical threat to him and the town.” 

“If he follows the news at all, he’ll already know that, and he might even think we can’t be trusted _because_ of that,” Kurt says. 

“Hey, first we have to get him to believe us that he’s something special,” Puck points out as they climb out of the Jeep. “Feels might think we’re crazy and try to kick us out. You still have your old badge?” 

Kurt nods. “Surely he has to be at least somewhat curious as to why he leads such a charmed life,” he says.

“Might think he’s just lucky,” Puck says. “Plenty of people just are unlucky, without being magnets for that.” He pats his own pocket, making sure his badge is in place. “First priority is getting inside, actually,” he corrects his own earlier statement. “We don’t need to explain this here on the front porch.” He walks up the short sidewalk and onto the porch, waiting until Kurt is standing beside him before knocking. 

Before the door opens, Puck can feel a wave of contentment wash over him, and he can hear Kurt let out a satisfied sigh. When Puck glances at him, his shoulders are relaxing, and Puck has just enough time to turn back towards the door as he hears it start to open. Kurt wasn’t wrong at the McDonald’s – Feels _is_ pretty damn attractive, very tall, and he’s smiling broadly at them. Puck blinks once, just to see if eye contact changes anything or if the contentment is making him evaluate Feels’ teeth as being even brighter than they actually are, but Feels does appear to be a genuinely good-looking, happy guy. 

“Hey,” Feels says. “Church or sales?”

“Neither, but a little of both,” Puck admits, smiling back at Feels almost in spite of himself. “Can we come in and introduce ourselves?” 

“Sure,” Feels says. He takes a step back from the door, and the contentment feels slightly tinged with both mild confusion and amusement. “Neither, but both, huh?”

Puck nods, still smiling, and waits until the door is shut before offering his hand. “Noah Puckerman.” 

“Finn Hudson,” Feels says, gripping Puck’s hand firmly as he shakes it. The contentment gets stronger when Feels takes Puck’s hand, so strong that for a few brief moments Puck feels like everything in life is good, and that they’ll have no problems with Hydra or their mission whatsoever. He releases Feels’ hand, and the contented feeling recedes a little as Puck nods at Kurt, reaching into his pocket at the same time. Feels offers his hand to Kurt, who takes it a little more hesitantly.

“Hummel. Kurt Hummel,” Kurt says, his face relaxing more, looking slightly dazed. “Mr. Hudson, we’re—”

“Finn,” Feels says. “Please. I’m only Mr. Hudson from eight to four.”

“Finn, then,” Puck says, pulling out his badge slowly. “We’re ex-agents of the government entity that was known as S.H.I.E.L.D.” 

“S.H.I.E.L.D.? The Captain America guys? Really?” Finn asks. 

“Well, yes, that and many other things,” Kurt says. He also reaches into his pocket and pulls out his badge. “Please give us a moment to explain before you reject what we have to say out of hand.” He glances over at Puck. “S.H.I.E.L.D. has been keeping a file on you for some time now. You are what we refer to as a potential asset.”

Puck feels a thread of uneasiness enter what he’s thinking of as the stream or wave of contentment, and Kurt shifts uncomfortably. Puck frowns, then tries to relax the frown as he looks at Feels. “You have the ability to make people around you happy, and that’s not a bad thing,” Puck says. “But it’s something Hydra would like to exploit, potentially, and we cannot be sure that your file is secure. We’re almost certain, in fact, that it’s not.” 

Feels starts to laugh as he shakes his head. “Did Mike put you up to this?” he asks. “This is him finally getting me back for the bachelor party, isn’t it?”

“Is this Mike in the file?” Puck asks Kurt. 

“Chang. Michael L.,” Kurt says, in the rapid, automatic tone Puck has begun to associate with Kurt accessing his mental filing system. “Know associate. Fellow teacher. Engaged to Cohen-Chang, Tina.” He shakes his head slightly. “I assume married to now.”

“Yeah, this is definitely Mike,” Finn says.

When Puck glances at Kurt, he’s smiling, and Puck shakes his head a few times rapidly, trying to push past the radiating amusement. “Dammit, Feels, we don’t even know this Mike,” he says, but it comes out more jovially than he intends. 

“Sure you don’t,” Finn says. “I swear I didn’t know the Chicken Basket was a strip club! I thought it was a family dining establishment.”

“Feels has a penchant for badly named strip clubs,” Puck says to Kurt in French. “We need to remember that in Chicago.” 

“Huh?” Feels says.

“I really like him,” Kurt replies in French. “I’m afraid this is going to be problematic.”

“So this really isn’t Mike pranking me?” Feels asks, in English.

“We’re really ex-S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Puck says, switching back to English, “we’re not pranking you, and we really do need to have you come with us.” 

Feels’ laughter fades, along with his smile. “You’re serious about that? But _why_? Why is there a file on me? I’m not some kind of, I don’t know, super soldier-type.”

“Psychological factors are also noted when it comes to assets,” Puck says. “Kurt can explain more of that. I’m technically more of an Ops guy. We can sit down and explain.” 

“You have certain special traits,” Kurt says. “As Agent Puckerman—Noah—mentioned, you have the ability, consciously or not, to influence the emotions of those around you. You feel happy, they feel happy. You feel angry, they feel angry. This could be a powerful tool in the wrong hands.”

Puck can feel his skin crawling a little, and he gestures towards Feels’ living room without actually touching Feels. “Right now you’re uncomfortable and apprehensive,” Puck says. “Or at least that’s how it’s broadcasting.” 

“Because this is crazy talk,” Feels says. “Anybody would be uncomfortable right now. I don’t have any kind of special traits, or special anything. I’m just a teacher. I’m just a regular guy.”

“An extraordinary regular guy,” Puck says, sitting down and looking around the living room. “We’re certainly not saying that you should be alarmed that you’ve been affecting people. It’s just that Hydra _will_ take an interest in you, and frankly, we’re both hoping that you’re not interested in helping Hydra at all.” 

“Of course I wouldn’t help Hydra!” Feels says loudly. 

“No one’s accusing you of that,” Kurt says. He sounds as agitated as Puck feels. “We also don’t think you’re aware of your abilities, let alone that you’re using them intentionally. It is, however, an absolute certainty that you do have them. People around you feel what you feel. You’re a genuinely happy and kind person, and others around you feel very positive in your presence. It makes you an excellent teacher. It also makes you a tremendous liability if you fell into Hydra’s hands.”

“Buckeyes fan?” Puck says, still looking around the room and trying to catalog everything in an attempt to find something that will calm Feels down. “Play any sports in high school?” 

“Football,” Feels answers warily. “Couple seasons of basketball. Wasn’t very good at it, but I kept making the team anyway.”

“I grew up in southern Indiana,” Puck says, and he knows he doesn’t sound as calm as he’d like to. “Not that different than Lima, I bet, except my town was even smaller.” 

“Yeah, we’re both from small towns, that’s great. I’m also apparently some kind of super-freak or something,” Feels says. “Do we have that in common, too?”

“Not a super-freak. Just a little extra gifted or something,” Puck says. “And no, not unless you consider hairy camels in multiple languages a gift, right, Kurt?” 

“I have photo-perfect memory of nearly two-hundred-thousand S.H.I.E.L.D. files,” Kurt says. “I can access them as easily as someone opening a folder on a computer or pulling a document out of a filing cabinet.”

“And he gets huffy if you file documents incorrectly,” Puck adds, trying to grin a little. 

“It’s just _rude_!” Kurt retorts. His fingers tap restlessly on his knees and his eyes bounce around the room.

“I’m not trying to do anything to anybody,” Feels says. “I’ve never tried to make somebody do what I want, nothing like that. I’d never do something like that.”

“And that’s probably why no one noticed, and why you weren’t of more importance to S.H.I.E.L.D. in the past,” Puck says. “But our orders came from high-ranking, non-compromised agents, Feels. We’re here to protect you, however much you think that’s crazy.” 

Feels’ shoulder sag and he exhales loudly. “This _is_ crazy.”

“We know,” Kurt says. “We’re sorry. We just want to protect you.”

“Our plan is get you out of here ASAP,” Puck says. “We’ll head to Chicago, get new plates for our vehicles, and find new jobs.” 

“I can’t just walk away from my job, my life,” Feels says.

“You being here puts them in danger as well,” Kurt says. 

“You can still teach,” Puck says. “But we need to be in a bigger metropolitan area, and ideally, find a school that’ll hire me as well. Kurt’ll have to bring home the turkey bacon until next school year.” 

“I’ve still got a month left in this school year,” Feels says. “And… how are you going to work at a school, too?”

Puck shrugs and switches to Arabic. “Some people want their kids to learn Arabic.” He pauses, then switches to German. “I can even fake German if I have to.” He switches back to English and grins just a little. “Not many schools want to teach Urdu, though.” 

“He speaks a few languages,” Kurt says, smiling faintly.

“What’s left in this school year can’t be helped,” Puck says, shaking his head. “We drove in order to call less attention to ourselves, but that means we’re staring our third night on the road in the face, and the fourth since the file dump. We’ve got to move you out of here, and fast.” 

“Shit,” Feels mutters. “I don’t want to abandon my kids. I can’t leave them without even telling them goodbye, and it wouldn’t be fair to not give notice. I know you want to move, but that’s just now how I do things. I don’t walk out on people.”

Kurt sighs. “Him and the Captain.”

“Feels, you’re keeping them _safe_ by leaving,” Puck tries to explain. “And don’t believe any pick up lines about the Captain _or_ Barton.” 

“I need a couple of days, at least,” Feels says.

Puck looks over at Kurt and mouths “One?” 

Kurt nods. “One. Make your goodbyes, explain it’s a family emergency,” he says. “Don’t say anything about S.H.I.E.L.D. or about where you’re heading.”

“We can pack for you while you’re at the school tomorrow,” Puck offers. “If anyone asks, imply you’re going someplace warmer.” 

“My mom’s sister lives down in Florida,” Feels says.

“Perfect,” Kurt says. “We’ll stay here tonight and leave after school tomorrow.”

“We should change again before we get a motel room,” Puck says to Kurt. “Maintain the cover a little longer.” 

“I’ve only got the one spare room,” Feels says apologetically. 

Puck grins at Kurt despite the regret radiating from Feels. “Yeah, that won’t be a problem.” 

“Oh.” Feels’ face turns a little pink. “Sorry. I didn’t want to assume—”

“It’s fine,” Kurt says.

“All we need to do for tonight, then, is find a place to park the Jeep,” Puck says. “Is your Walmart far?” 

“Small town. Walmart’s not far from anything in Lima,” Feels says.

“I can drive the Jeep over and we can leave it there overnight,” Puck says, looking at Kurt. “I can get you more Elmo juice boxes, too.” 

“Elmo juice boxes?” Feels asks.

“I was a very responsible theoretical parent,” Puck says, schooling his face into looking calm and not amused. “Organic juice, and we were going to find out what our theoretical child needed to learn in kindergarten.” 

“And you two are really S.H.I.E.L.D. agents?” Feels asks, side-eyeing them both.

“Amazingly, yes, we really are,” Kurt says.

Puck shrugs. “The last time I talked to a kindergarten teacher, I was six.” 

“And I’m sure you were adorable,” Kurt says, “but right now, you’re disturbing the asset.”

“I’m just trying to give him insight into how some of this works,” Puck says. “Want me to go ahead and take the Jeep? Feels, I’ll need a map. Handwritten, I mean.” 

“Sure. I’ll go jot it down,” Feels says. He gives Kurt and Puck another wary look before walking back towards the kitchen.

“This is going to be more complicated than I anticipated,” Kurt whispers to Puck. “The file was right. He’s the real deal.”

“Which is exactly why we have to get out of here quick,” Puck says, shaking his head a little. “I’ll buy a map of the Midwest and see if they have one that’s just Illinois or Chicago. Not burner phones, though, not until we’re out of Ohio. Try to pin him down on what he insists on taking, while I go to Walmart?” 

“How are you getting back?”

“I’ll walk. He said it wasn’t far,” Puck says. 

“Alone?” Kurt asks. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’m very uncomfortable with that.”

“I could run, instead,” Puck says. “Or you can convince him it’s time for our first field trip together.” He shrugs a little and moves closer to Kurt. “We can’t leave him here alone,” he says very quietly. “He might run.” 

“I don’t feel right about this. It feels all wrong,” Kurt admits. “But I can’t tell if that’s real or if it’s him. How are we supposed to make decisions if we can’t tell?”

“We know we were fine on the porch until he got close to the door, right?” Puck says. “We’ll tell him we’re going to step outside, and to wait here.” Kurts nods. 

“Maybe you should tell him,” he says.

“Tell him that he’s making two veteran agents a little crazy?” Puck says, trying to grin and not managing it. “Maybe he should watch a favorite comedy while we’re outside.” 

“Maybe he should go stand in the back yard or something,” Kurt says.

“While watching _Friends_ on his phone,” Puck says, nodding as he stands, and he turns as Feels comes back into the room. 

“Here,” Feels says, handing a folded piece of notepaper in Puck’s direction. “It’s about a mile and a half.”

“Thanks,” Puck says, taking the paper carefully and making sure he doesn’t actually touch Feels. “We’re going to go out front for a few minutes. You can hang out in your kitchen or something.” Puck gestures to the back of the house. 

“Okay,” Feels says. “I’ll just go cook some dinner, I guess. Any food allergies?”

“He’s Jewish,” Kurt says, tilting his head in Puck’s direction.

“Nana kept kosher,” Puck adds over his shoulder as he takes Kurt’s hand and heads towards the door. He can feel the moment that they’re far enough away from Feels, but he keeps going for ten more feet before stopping. “Better?”

Kurt takes a deep breath in and shakes his arms out before exhaling. “It would be easier if we didn’t know our feelings aren’t our own.”

“Yeah, but considering he wasn’t happy, it wouldn’t have been that much easier.” Puck closes his eyes for a moment before opening them and looking at Kurt. “Okay. We have to make a decision on what to do now. The Jeep needs to move ASAP.” 

Kurt nods and takes another couple of deep breathes. “Okay. I still don’t like you walking back alone, but I agree we need to keep him here, and that we need to keep him where we can watch him.”

“I’m not unarmed,” Puck says. “It’s not ideal, but I’ll empty my pack here before I go and strap it on with the maps and anything else I need to get. I can jog a mile and a half back pretty fast.” 

“Oh, I’m very much aware of that,” Kurt says. “I’ve read your file, remember? You also have an impressive vertical and an inhuman ability to do pull-ups.”

“Hopefully I don’t need to do either of those right now,” Puck says, grinning at Kurt and leaning closer to him. “You know, I should kiss you right now.” 

“Before we go back inside and you don’t want to?” Kurt teases.

"You don't think Feels wants to kiss you?" Puck asks, not waiting for Kurt's answer before leaning in and kissing him. It is weirdly relieving, after being in Feels' house, to feel only his own desire, and he keeps kissing Kurt a little longer than is probably wise, considering they're on the street. 

He pulls back with a grin. "I'll be back in forty-five minutes. Meet me out here when I get back and we'll do that again."

“Sounds good to me. Be safe and don’t take any unnecessary risks on your way back,” Kurt says. 

“I won’t.” 

 

**[Agent K. Hummel, S.H.I.E.L.D., Mobile Operations, Report 4, 1720 Hours]**

_Have made contact with Asset 309C-FCH, Finn Hudson. Still holding out on codename “Feels” but suspect it’s only a matter of time. Agent Puckerman seems to have that effect on me. Hudson’s reported special abilities have been confirmed. The experience is disconcerting and may have an impact on rational decision-making, a factor we will have to work around. Hopefully engendering trust will at least make the externally-originating feelings more positive. Otherwise, the situation may end up ranging from weird to legitimately dangerous. Will try to initiate contact with Agent May when we reach our destination._

_Additional Note: Unsure if I am becoming more or less of a fan of fieldwork._

**[End Journal Entry]**


	9. Chapter 9

The Lima Walmart proves to be be high-yield: a map of Illinois, Indiana, and Ohio combined, a more detailed map of Illinois alone, and finally a highly detailed map of the Chicago metropolitan area, which Puck gets even though both he and Kurt lived in the city in the past. Puck buys energy bars, bottled water, beef jerky, and protein shakes, too: the next day, they’re not going to be able to take the time for dinner. 

Purchases stowed in his pack, Puck straps it on and tries to look like it’s perfectly normal for a man in vaguely military gear to be jogging with a pack on his back. It’s still a relief when he turns onto a more residential street, and he glances at the time as he turns onto Feels’ street: forty-three minutes after he left, which means that he should arrive in Feels’ yard at exactly the time he promised Kurt. 

Puck grins to himself when he approaches, seeing Kurt in the yard. “Told you!” he calls at what he thinks is the edge of Feels’ property. “Forty-five minutes!” 

“Never doubted it for a minute,” Kurt says, walking up to meet Puck at the property line. Puck stops in front of Kurt, kissing him for what might be even a little longer than the first time they kissed in Feels’ yard, and he puts his arm around Kurt as they slowly walk toward the house. 

“What’s Feels cooking?” Puck asks. 

“I’m honestly not sure,” Kurt says. “I think I’ve found the one thing about him that isn’t superhero material. It smells vinegary.”

“Maybe it’s like…” Puck tries to think of vinegary foods. “Some kind of slaw or potato salad?”

“Looked like meat.”

Puck winces and stops before the porch. “Well, I got more energy bars, beef jerky, and protein shakes than we could possibly need between here and Chicago. We can always have a snack later.” 

Kurt nods, then gives the door a regretful look. “Ready?”

“Hey, maybe cooking makes him happy,” Puck says, leaving his arm around Kurt as they open the door and navigate the doorway. “Dinner ready, Feels?” he calls once the door is closed. 

“Don’t call him that!” Kurt whispers.

“He didn’t object,” Puck says, but he can feel anxiety creeping over him, and he has no idea really if there’s anything they can do or say to make Feels less anxious. 

“Almost ready,” Feels calls back from the kitchen. “The potatoes are still sort of firm.”

“So, what’s your usual workout?” Puck asks as he and Kurt approach the kitchen and the sense of anxiety gets stronger. 

“Huh?” Feels looks up from a mixing bowl as Puck and Kurt walk into the room. “Oh. Run in the morning, try to hit the gym every other day if I can.” He shrugs and gives them a smile that doesn’t at all match the way he seems to be feeling. “Don’t really have anybody to impress, but I want to take care of myself, you know?”

Puck nods, managing to feel a little of his own relief despite Feels’ anxiety. At least Feels won’t be pining for someone back in Lima. “Ever shoot a gun?”

“That’s really not my thing,” Feels says, somehow managing to shrug apologetically while continuing to aggressively mash whatever’s in the bowl. 

“Once we get to Chicago, we’ll take the summer and train you,” Puck says. “Refresher’d be good for us too, Kurt.” He grins at Kurt and even manages a wink, but he feels anxious about all of it still. 

“Nah, I think I’m good,” Feels says. He pours milk into the bowl of mashed possibly-potatoes and then begins stirring the bowl’s contents.

“It might be prudent to at least have some rudimentary skills in that area,” Kurt says.

“No guns,” Feels insists, more firmly this time.

Kurt sighs. “I understand your objection on principle, but it’s really a matter of—”

Feels doesn’t quite slam the bowl onto the counter, but he puts it down with a lot of force. “I _said_ I’m good,” he says through clenched teeth.

The anger that Puck feels suddenly is more like a blast than something radiating from Feels, and he’s reminded of the time he stood too close to a plane engine as it started. He can feel himself baring his own teeth, and his arm tightens around Kurt. 

“Shit,” Puck mutters. “Shit shit shit.” 

“Stop it,” Kurt says, struggling slightly in Puck’s arms. “Let go of me.”

“Sorry,” Puck says, forcing himself to physically relax. “Feels, can you maybe explain instead of getting everyone angry?” 

Feels’ hands tighten on the edges of the bowl, but he takes a deep, forced breath before saying anything. “First of all,” he finally says, “I’m not getting anybody angry. I’m not doing anything to anybody. And my name is _Finn_. I’m not some goddamn Avenger or anything like that.”

“We’re just trying to do our jobs!” Kurt retorts, still sounding at least as angry as Puck feels like Feels feels. 

“Which is to keep you _safe_!” Puck says equally angrily. “And we don’t need to be broadcasting your name to everyone who hears us talking!” 

“I didn’t need anybody to keep me safe from something until the two of you showed up!” Feels says, continuing to aggressively stir his very, _very_ mashed potatoes. 

“The only difference is now you _know_. You can keep the people you know safe. We know this isn’t a fucking picnic!” Puck almost yells. 

“I’ve been living in a box for three years!” Kurt _does_ yell, “and now I wish I’d never come out of it!”

“Hey, Georgia wasn’t too bad!” Puck says, then glares at Feels. “Can you _please_ calm the fuck down so we can stop yelling?” 

“It’s not my fault you’re yelling!” Feels says.

Puck can tell he’s actually feeling a little of his own anger, and he wants to shake Feels a little. “Just _try_ it!” 

“Fine!” Feels shouts at him, then he puts his hands palms-down on the counter and closes his eyes, taking deep breaths, while also muttering what sounds like one through ten to himself. 

Puck gradually feels less like he’s standing near a jet, and the feeling from Feels turns to more of a simmer. “Thank you,” he says firmly, relieved not to be yelling. Kurt also exhales loudly, leaning against Puck.

“This is a nightmare,” Kurt says, his voice quiet, too. “How are we going to make this work?”

“File say anything about potential immunity?” Puck whispers. 

“No, but we have to figure something out if we’re going to be able to adequately handle him,” Kurt whispers back.

“Let’s just sit down and eat some dinner,” Feels says.

“Great,” Puck forces himself to say. “What’re we having with the, uh, mashed potatoes?”

“Meatloaf,” Feels says. “I don’t really have to cook that often.”

“Is there butter in the mashed potatoes?” Puck asks. 

“Shit,” Kurt says, tensing up again. “I told him you were Jewish.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like it’s pig butter or anything,” Feels says. 

“I’ll just eat the potatoes,” Puck says, because he’s pretty sure the meatloaf is the source of the vinegary smell. “No problem.” 

“There’s some cold chicken in the fridge, if you want it. It came from Meijer,” Feels offers. 

“Maybe later,” Puck says, because Feels seems calm enough for a moment, and Puck thinks they should probably all sit down and eat what they can while they can. He opens a few cabinets before finding plates and handing them to Kurt, and the three of them sit down, staring at each other a little awkwardly. 

“So, _Finn_ ,” Kurt says, giving Puck a pointed look. “We read that you were Teacher of the Year for three consecutive years. You must be very popular with your students and faculty.”

Feels shrugs as he sets the mashed potatoes as the vinegary meat-brick that’s supposedly a meatloaf onto the table. “I’ve just had some really great groups of kids,” he says.

“You get the best group every year, I’m guessing?” Puck says, taking a scoop of the mashed potatoes and passing it on to Kurt. “Teaching is something you really enjoy?” 

“Every group of kids is the best group,” Feels says. “No such thing as a bad kid, just kids you haven’t figured out the best way to teach yet. So, yeah, I really love it. I’m always happy to go in every morning.”

“It must be a wonderful school to work for,” Kurt says, scooping a small amount of mashed potatoes onto his plate. 

“Oh yeah. Whole school’s fantastic,” Feel says, nodding. “Great administrator, engaged teachers, kids that really want to learn. Used to be one of the lowest performing schools in the district, but it’s really become a great school these past few years.”

“When did you start working there?” Puck asks. 

“Was just about to finish up my fifth year there,” Feels says.

“And the improvement,” Kurt says. “Did that start before you got there?”

“Things were still pretty rough my first year,” Feels says, cutting up the sort of terrifying-looking meatloaf on his plate. “We had low parent involvement. Test scores were terrible.”

“I’ve heard of communities that increased parental involvement through home visits,” Puck says. “That how you guys turned things around?” 

“A little of that, sure, but we were really able to get everybody involved in the PTA. They started organizing projects to get the school cleaned up, volunteering in the classrooms.” Feels shakes his head, smiling down at his plate. “It’s amazing what can get done when parents starting feeling really passionate about their kids’ education. And the kids just needed someone to believe in them.”

Puck nods slowly. “So, hey, silver lining, you could help do the same at another school that needs some improvements?” 

“I just really hate to leave my kids,” Feels says, sighing. “They’re all such awesome kids.”

“You’re keeping them safe,” Puck says firmly. 

“Feels more like I’m abandoning them,” Feels says.

“Good teachers keep their students safe. Right?” Puck looks at Kurt, mouthing “Back me up!” when Feels isn’t looking at either of them. 

“They’ll be so much safer without Hydra coming into their town looking for you,” Kurt says. “I know you still don’t completely believe what we’ve been telling you, but I assure you that Hydra will. Even if you are, as you say, nothing special, you’re something special to Hydra, at the very least.”

“This seems precipitous,” Puck says. “But think about what you’ve seen on the news the past few days.” 

“Nothing good,” Feels admits.

“And you don’t want that coming into your classroom, do you?” Kurt asks gently. 

“You probably feel like you’re flying without a map,” Puck says, even though he’s pretty sure, based on anxiety level, that that is _exactly_ how Feels is feeling. “We can understand that. But we’re not going to leave you stranded in Chicago or anywhere else.” 

“How long am I supposed to stay there?” Feels asks. “Forever? I have friends and family here. I can’t just disappear.”

“We don’t have a timeline. We’re waiting for more orders,” Kurt says. 

“Look, we’re both loyal to Fury and those he trusted,” Puck says. “It may take some time to get Hydra under control again, but we _will_ have more of an infrastructure to keep you safe, eventually. For now, though, you’re our only concern. Rebuilding is for other agents.” 

“So you just babysit me forever?” Feels asks, shaking his head. “Great.”

“Better than you falling into Hydra’s hands,” Kurt says. 

“No, we _protect_ you so you can rebuild a life. And when S.H.I.E.L.D. is rebuilt sans Nazis, you’ll still be alive. Still be able to teach,” Puck says. 

“Still have some kind of freak power,” Feels says bitterly. 

“You’re an innately good person,” Kurt says. “You haven’t done anything but good with it, even though you weren’t aware you even had that ability.”

“It’s not our area of expertise,” Puck says slowly. “But we can try to help you learn about it, even control it. If that’s something you’d like.”

“I don’t want to be used to hurt somebody,” Feels says. 

Puck nods. “And we’re going to make sure that doesn’t happen.” It’s probably promising too much, but it’s the only mission they have, and they’re still at least a few steps ahead of Hydra. Still, everyone is less tense, and Feels feels calmer.

The next ten minutes passes in silence. Feels must at least find the dinner he’s made to be acceptable, because it does seem slightly more palatable to Puck than it did at the first bite or two. Once Feels’ plate is clean, he pushes back from the table.

“If I’m leaving with less than a day’s notice, I need to get some things together for whoever has to takeover my class,” Feels says. “Lesson plans, notes on the kids, stuff like that. Your room’s on the left, past the bathroom.”

“Thanks,” Puck says, waiting for Feels to leave the room before he turns to Kurt. “Clean up, see if anything in the kitchen is worth packing, and then plan our route for tomorrow?”

“Then try to get some sleep,” Kurt says, nodding as he stands and starts gathering up the plates and silverware. 

Puck throws the rest of the meatloaf away, then does the same with the mashed potatoes, shaking his head a little. “I still can’t tell for sure if he believes us or he’s just going along with it.” 

“Which at least does clarify that it’s definitely emotions and not thoughts that he’s projecting,” Kurt says. “That’s something useful to know.”

“We’d really be in trouble if it were thoughts,” Puck says. “Especially if it went in both directions.” 

“You don’t want him listening in on what you’re thinking?” Kurt asks, his face relaxing into a smile. 

“Oh, I just figured _you_ wouldn’t want him to know what I was thinking,” Puck says with a grin. “I’d have to start thinking about most things in some other language.” 

“What kind of things?” Kurt asks. 

Puck puts the last of the dishes in the dishwasher and starts it, then starts opening up cabinets as he talks. “Well, I guess he could see what I was thinking when it came to his cooking?” he says. “Most things, though, probably best kept private.” He finishes opening up the cabinets and turns towards Kurt, deliberately flicking his eyes up and down Kurt’s body. “Be like giving him X-ray glasses.” 

“I don’t expect he’d enjoy that,” Kurt says, his face slightly flushed. “Definitely for the best that it’s emotions only and one way only.”

Puck laughs. “Probably so.” He looks around the open cabinets. “Anything that we should set out to pack?” 

“He’ll want his clothes, personal effects, photographs,” Kurt says. “Grab anything portable, food-wise.”

“I think we should take the blender, too. Maybe he’s better at smoothies than mashed potatoes,” Puck says, putting the blender and some non-perishable food on the table. “There. We’ve sorted one room already. Let’s figure out that route so we can be off duty, don’t you think?”

Kurt gives Puck a wan smile. “Do we ever really get to be off duty?”

“House’ll be locked, Jeep isn’t here, and neither of us are deep sleepers,” Puck says. “Close enough to off duty. Break time, at least. R&R.” 

“Get the maps,” Kurt says. “We can probably figure the route out in thirty or less.”

Puck laughs and grabs Kurt’s hand, pulling him towards the living room, where he left the pack and the maps. Twenty minutes later, they head to the guest bedroom after checking all the locks a second time. As Puck closes the door, he gently pushes on Kurt’s shoulder until Kurt’s back is against the shut door.

“Break time,” Puck says almost smugly, leaning in to kiss Kurt. 

Kurt puts his arms around Puck’s neck and kisses back. Feels must really be calmed by either paperwork or thinking about teaching, or both, because all that is coming from external sources is calm almost contentment. Puck leaves one hand flat on the door, his other hand landing on Kurt’s hip. 

“Told you we needed a break,” Puck says, curling his fingers around Kurt’s waist and slowly pulling Kurt away from the door with him. 

“You were right,” Kurt says. “Absolutely right.”

“I know,” Puck says with a grin, still backing up until his legs hit the bed. He doesn’t sit or lie back, but he moves both hands to the front of Kurt’s shirt, slowly unbuttoning it as Kurt unbuckles and removes his own belt. “You know, _my_ definition of professional comes off more quickly.”

“I doubt your version of professional would look quite so professional on me,” Kurt counters. 

“More practical tomorrow,” Puck says, pushing Kurt’s shirt off, then unvelcroing Kurt’s vest and pulling it over his head. “More practical tomorrow night. Win-win.” 

“Perhaps for everyone but Finn,” Kurt says. “Especially if we’re in a hotel.”

“Even hotels have doors on the bathrooms,” Puck says. “We’ll figure out a way.” He puts his hands under Kurt’s undershirt, pushing it up and then pulling it off before kissing Kurt again. 

“In between avoiding Hydra, trying to find places to live and work?” Kurt asks.

“All work and no play, you’d think you were back in the Shoebox,” Puck says, pulling his shirt over his head and throwing it in the floor. “And you don’t _really_ want to have no play, do you?” He slides his hands up and down Kurt’s bare back as he kisses him, rubbing his thumbs in circles. 

“Not really, no,” Kurt says. He presses his lips against Puck’s shoulder, and moves his hands to Puck’s sides to unvelcro his vest. Puck lifts his arms, letting Kurt lift the vest off Puck and discard it to the side. Puck puts his hands back and keeps his hands moving on Kurt’s back as he does slowly sit down, pulling Kurt down with him. 

“Want another massage?” he asks with a grin. 

“I wouldn’t say no, but it’s not a requirement,” Kurt replies. 

“I’m just making sure I keep my hands on you,” Puck jokes, pushing himself more to the center of the bed and pulling Kurt with him. “Too bad Feels didn’t have a king-size guest bed.” 

“Are we planning on occupying that much space?”

“You could have really stretched out, is all,” Puck says. He lies back and turns them onto their sides, then nudges Kurt to face the other direction as he slowly runs his hands down Kurt’s back with a little more pressure. A thought passes through his brain and he starts laughing. “I guess we know what we’ll be doing if Feels starts dating in Chicago.” 

“Oh my god,” Kurt says. “We have to find something we can do about this. Tinfoil hats, B12 injections, _something_.”

“He’s not married,” Puck points out as he keeps massaging Kurt’s back. “So maybe with constant exposure, people are less and less affected?”

“Maybe,” Kurt says, leaning back into Puck’s hands. 

“It’s not activated by touch, so maybe the more someone does touch him, the less they’re affected?” Puck suggests, kissing the back of Kurt’s neck. 

“Touch made it a little more intense for me, though,” Kurt says. “When we shook hands, it was the strongest.”

“Right, yeah, same here. But think about drugs and what they tell us about them at Academy. The same dose has a weaker and weaker effect over time.” Puck kisses the back of Kurt’s neck again, leaving his lips hovering just over Kurt’s skin. 

“So, a lot of hand-shaking?” Kurt suggests. He arches his back, pushing his ass against Puck’s erection. Puck pushes forward, his hands digging in a little harder as they move on Kurt’s back. 

“Yeah. Close proximity, as hard as that will be. Maybe we should take his truck and tow the Jeep. Conceal his plates with the trailer, and make him sit in the middle of the two of us, to start the process.” 

“Do you really want him in the middle of us?” Kurt asks, grinding back a little harder. 

“No,” Puck says, moving one hand to Kurt’s chest “Temporary pain for long-term gain?”

“Will we all hold hands? Make some friendship bracelets?” Kurt pushes back again, putting his hand on top of Puck’s. “How long do you think it will take?”

“Sing songs around a campfire,” Puck says, kissing Kurt’s shoulder blades. “S’mores. We’ll have to ask him how long his relationships typically lasted.” 

“The file didn’t say. If I’d had more time, I could have contacted the three significant former romantic partners and conducted interviews, but we were too pressed,” Kurt says.

Puck laughs between kisses. “I assumed it didn’t tell you, or you would have mentioned it on the way. He can think we’re interested for other reasons, maybe. No need to let him know we’re working on a workaround until we’re sure we can do it, right?” He slides his hand down Kurt’s chest, resting it just above Kurt’s waist. “Turn around.” 

Kurt turns towards Puck, his face close enough to Puck’s that the tips of their noses barely touch. “None of them were still local, so it didn’t seem relevant to discuss,” he says. 

“Hmm, no,” Puck agrees, kissing Kurt slowly and moving both hands on Kurt’s back. Kurt makes the same little sexy-noises he had made the night before. Puck slides his hands down, grabbing Kurt’s ass and pulling him closer. “You think it’s safe to contact another agent? We need new identification for Feels, at a minimum.” 

Kurt lightly runs his fingernails down Puck’s side, then around to his back. “You know someone local?”

“I think she’s still in the Midwest, yeah. We weren’t at Academy together, but she grew up in the same town I did. Does documents. I’d have a hard time seeing her as Hydra, you know?” Puck squeezes Kurt’s ass and kisses him again. 

“Mmm. Good.” Kurt runs his hand up Puck’s back and then down again. “We’ll see how quickly she can work. We could use new IDs for ourselves, too.”

“We don’t want to lose some credentials,” Puck says. “It’ll be good to have more than one set.” He thrusts forward, rubbing their erections together through their pants, and holds Kurt in place there. 

“Use one for renting, the other for work,” Kurt suggests, rocking his hips forward. 

“Keep a P.O. Box near work for a mailing address,” Puck says, moving his lips on Kurt’s neck. “You think Hydra’s all up in local law enforcement everywhere?”

“Large cities and a few small towns with key assets or locations,” Kurt says. He slides his hand down the back of Puck’s pants to his ass. “We’re really just plain lucky they didn’t already have someone stationed here.”

“Too small, too far off the initial radar,” Puck says. “Chicago PD’s probably something we want to avoid, then.” 

“I’m sure we’re all three law abiding citizens. Why would we ever have to interact with Chicago PD?” Kurt asks. He brings his hand back up to Puck’s waist, pushing down on Puck’s pants. “And I think it’s time we get rid of these, don’t you?”

“No speeding,” Puck chides, lifting his hips off the bed as he nods. “Feels doesn’t have a weed predilection or anything, right?”

“Other than the penchant for badly named strip clubs?” Kurt continues to push Puck’s pants down. 

Puck laughs and kicks his pants off once they’re low enough. “Yeah, other than that,” he says, kissing Kurt and sliding one hand inside Kurt’s pants, still on his ass. Kurt moves his hand   
between his body and Puck’s, unfastening the button and unzipping the zipper. Puck puts both hands inside Kurt’s pants, working them slowly off Kurt’s hips. 

“No infractions, not even any speeding tickets,” Kurt says. “One warning for running a stop sign. I imagine it was only a warning because the officer could really feel that Finn’s remorse was genuine.” He wiggles his hips to help Puck pull his pants down, kicking them off once they’re far enough down.

“Are we sure Feels is real?” Puck jokes, putting his hands on Kurt’s ass again. “I had three speeding tickets by the time I finished at DePaul.”

“I know. Seventy-five in a forty-five? You’re lucky you still have a license.”

“I had a good reason,” Puck says. “Officer actually ran lights for me until I left his county.” 

“Funny that that wasn’t noted in your file,” Kurt says, running his hand over Puck’s hip. 

“He probably wasn’t supposed to. Small county, though. I was trying to get back to see Nana,” Puck says. “The other two speeding tickets were not thirty over, at least. As you know.” He pulls back a little and grins. “What about you? Ever jaywalk?”

“Me? Never. I was too much of a goody two-shoes for that,” Kurt says, laughing softly. “I thought I might cut loose a little in college, but it was determined so quickly that I was being recruited for S.H.I.E.L.D., and I didn’t want to risk my pristine record.”

“Too bad,” Puck says. “What did you want to cut loose and do?”

Kurt shrugs. “I’m not even sure. Go to parties, I guess. I met my ex before I could go out and do anything wild, sexually speaking.”

Puck squeezes Kurt’s ass again. “Want me to throw you a private party in Chicago?” he offers with a grin. 

“I’m not sure getting high or recklessly drunk would be a good idea while babysitting an asset,” Kurt says. “I _did_ at least get to have a little more sexual experience. Still nothing I’d think of as too wild, but I’m a lot less naive than I was as a Stanford freshman.”

“Yeah? What’s still on your wish list?” 

“Whatever it is that people do when they’re wild, I suppose,” Kurt says. “To be honest, I haven’t actually made a wish list. As I mentioned before, I tried not to think about it too much in these past few years.”

“Hmm.” Puck kisses Kurt a little harder than before, his fingers spread on Kurt’s ass. “Think about it now,” he suggests. “We won’t be babysitting all the time.” 

“Good cop, bad cop interrogation threesome,” Kurt says promptly.

“ _That’s_ the first thing that came to your mind?” Puck asks, feeling grudgingly impressed. 

“It was the first thing I could think of that really sounded risque!” Kurt says, his tone a little defensive. “I’d want to be the bad cop, obviously.”

“Oh, yeah, obviously,” Puck says, fighting a laugh, but he’s not actually surprised. “Do I get to be the good cop, or am I getting interrogated?”

“You’d be the good cop. You didn’t want to be the one getting interrogated, did you?” Kurt asks. “I was thinking of it as more of a team effort.”

“That depends on what happens to the one getting interrogated,” Puck says with a wide grin. “Would I get tied up?”

“I’ve never actually interrogated anyone. I know what the official protocols are, of course, but I know that those aren’t particularly relevant in the field,” Kurt says. “I hadn’t really thought beyond interrogating the suspect and then you and I having sex.”

Puck laughs. “What were we going to do with the suspect?” 

“Other than interrogate him? I’m not really sure.”

“Thank him and let him leave?” Puck asks. “Or would he watch us having sex?” 

“He’d watch,” Kurt says firmly. He curls his fingers loosely around Puck’s cock. 

“Yeah?” Puck says. “What would he watch us do?” He squeezes Kurt’s ass again, pushing his cock into Kurt’s hand slightly. 

“Things we haven’t actually done yet,” Kurt says. “Though I think first he’d watch me give you a blowjob.”

“Yeah? You like giving blowjobs?” Puck asks. 

“I would like giving you one.”

“You like getting blowjobs, too?” Puck says, eyebrows raised a little. 

“I think you know I do,” Kurt says.

“You sure you wouldn’t bad-cop the good cop into giving you a blow job?” Puck asks with a grin. 

“Oh, I’m sure I _would_ ,” Kurt says. “That’s just part of being the bad cop.”

“Yeah? What would you say?”

Kurt smiles, tightening his hand around Puck’s cock. “I’d say I’m making an example of you,” he says. “I’d tell you that I have all the power, and you don’t have any, and I’d make sure to say it loud enough for the suspect to hear me.”

“Are you trying to make the suspect piss his pants, or want in on the action?” Puck asks, returning Kurt’s smile with a grin of his own. 

“Oh. I guess I didn’t quite think this through.”

Puck laughs. “I mean, hey, maybe the suspect won’t be into that.” 

“What if he is?” Kurt asks. “See? You’re ruining my sex fantasy!”

“I was just checking!” Puck says, pushing his cock into Kurt’s hand again. “I wasn’t sure which kind of sex fantasy it was!”

“Like I said, I didn’t quite think it through!” 

Puck laughs again and kisses Kurt, squeezing Kurt’s ass a final time before wrapping one hand around Kurt’s cock. “Okay, what’s another one?”

“It’s your turn,” Kurt insists. “Now you have to tell me one.”

“Yeah?” Puck thinks for a moment, then grins. “You want to hear one I had back at the Shoebox?”

Kurt smiles back. “Am I going to like it? It doesn’t involve you sending _me_ off with the cargo drop, does it?”

“No, but it does involve your files. Still want to hear it?” 

“Oh yes. Most definitely.”

“So, yeah, I figured eventually two different things might happen. One, I might let you catch me in the act of misfiling one or two of them. And two, you might crack and do more than get huffy.” Puck pauses, watching Kurt’s face. 

“Oh?” Kurt asks, his eyebrows rising and his hand finally starting to move on Puck’s cock. “How so?”

“I figured you might start yelling, first of all,” Puck says, “but generally that ended with me either up against a door or leaning over the table in the break room.”

“Was either one better?” Kurt asks. His breath catches a little, and he strokes Puck’s cock a little faster.

“Mostly it just depended on which room I was misfiling in,” Puck admits, moving his hand up and down Kurt’s cock. “You made it last longer if I was bent over the table, though.”

“And that’s good, right?”

“Uh, yeah,” Puck says, pressing himself closer to Kurt. “But up against the door, height and everything has to work, so the fact that we _could_ …”

“Maybe once we’ve found a place in Chicago,” Kurt says. “I’ll need office space. Where one has office space, one typically has files.”

“It’s so difficult to keep track of which comes first, ‘C’ or ‘S’,” Puck says, grinning and moving his hand faster as his hips push forward. “ _Now_ you tell me another one.” 

Kurt sighs. “Okay. Fine. Please note that this one is pure fantasy, and I don’t actually want to be involved in a gun battle of any kind.”

“Duly noted,” Puck promises.

“We’re in the middle of shootout, taking heavy fire from Hydra,” Kurt begins. “Our position is compromised and you barely pull me out of the line of fire in time. We’re cut off, though. No chance of escape.” His hand moves faster, and he repositions himself slightly so his other hand can gently cup Puck’s balls. 

“Yeah?” Puck rocks his hips a little as his hand moves. 

“Yes. So we have a one-last-time fuck, with bullets flying over our heads and certain death ahead of us,” Kurt says. 

“Does it make that much more awesome?” Puck asks with a small grin. 

“Absolutely,” Kurt says. 

“We could probably go buy out a laser tag arena sometime,” Puck says. 

“I’m not sure it would be the same,” Kurt says sadly. 

“Well, we would live to walk out at the end, true,” Puck says, kissing Kurt’s shoulder. “You should keep the same first name on both sets of paperwork.” 

“That’s what I thought, too,” Kurt says. “All of us. For practicality. What other reason?”

“I might try to call out both names in bed,” Puck says, moving his hand faster. 

“So it’s like a threesome with only two parties involved? Oh, yes, just like that,” Kurt says, closing his eyes. “That’s just the right speed.”

“Two-point-five-some,” Puck says, continuing to kiss along Kurt’s shoulder. “Yeah, you look good.” 

“I’m fine with just two right now,” Kurt says. He keeps moving both his hands on Puck, one hand stroking his cock and the fingertips on his other hand now pressing up behind Puck’s balls. 

“Yeah,” Puck says. “You going to fuck me when we get to Chicago? Celebrate a little?”

“Unless our asset is too furious for us to manage it,” Kurt says. 

“If he’s that furious, we’re not going to be celebrating anyway,” Puck points out, dropping his head against Kurt’s neck as his hand and hips move. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.”

“If you want it, it’s a yes,” Kurt says. 

“If _I_ want it?” Puck asks, his hips moving faster.

“ _I_ want it, so if you want it, we should,” Kurt says, sounding more like he’s babbling than anything, and Puck wonders if he’s fully aware, even, of what he’s saying. 

“Yeah, we should,” Puck agrees, and he kisses Kurt hard, his hand almost squeezing as it tightens on Kurt’s cock. Kurt cries out into Puck’s mouth as they kiss, and Puck feels him coming as Puck’s hand keeps moving. Puck thrusts his hips forward three more times, still kissing Kurt, and then comes, too. 

Puck rolls slightly, onto his back, and grins at Kurt. “Mmmhmm.”

“Mmmhmm,” Kurt agrees, grinning back at Puck, until Puck can tell they’re both hit with a wave of embarrassment tinged with what Puck can only think of as ‘a little bit turned on’, and Puck makes a face. 

“Oops?”

“Oh my god,” Kurt squeals quietly, turning his face against Puck’s shoulder. “At least he’s not _mad_.”

Puck stifles a laugh. “Maybe he should be the ‘suspect’.”

“Oh my _god_ , Puck!” Kurt says, smacking Puck’s arm. “Go to sleep!”

Puck laughs. “Night-night.” 

“I should have stayed at the Shoebox and let Hydra kill me,” Kurt mutters, his face still pressed against Puck’s shoulder. “I’m just going to end up dying a slow, painful death from Finn Hudson’s ambient embarrassment.”

“Just remember,” Puck says. “File cabinet. Door.”

“Sleep!”

 

**[Agent K. Hummel, S.H.I.E.L.D., Mobile Operations, Report 5, 0500 Hours]**

_Have convinced the asset of the necessity of relocation. Agent Puckerman has accompanied him to the school to turn in his resignation. While we doubt Hudson will attempt to flee, Agent Puckerman will be circling the campus to be sure. I am packing the rest of Mr. Hudson’s personal effects. Am incredibly uncomfortable with the idea of long-term exposure to Mr. Hudson’s abilities, but it’s not like we have a relief team coming. Need an apartment with thicker doors._

**[End Journal Entry]**


	10. Chapter 10

After Feels has visually checked to see if Puck is there two times, Puck shoulders his pack and runs to the Walmart to retrieve the Jeep, not particularly caring this time if anyone finds his presence or pace odd. He finds a trailer at the second place he checks and tows it back to the school, but by the time the parents start lining up for carpool, Puck has the trailer attached to Feels’ truck and the Jeep sitting on it. 

The carpool line empty, Puck leans against Feels’ truck to wait, but he ends up feeling him and his utter sense of defeat before he sees him. “Ready?” Puck says, trying to sound empathetic or at least gentle. 

Feels sighs. “Well, I’ve already told them I’m moving to Florida to take care of my aunt. I don’t really have another choice, do I?”

“No,” Puck admits, heading towards the passenger door. “But you don’t have to give up teaching completely.” 

“I love this school. I love this town,” Feels says. “I don’t want to be some asset. I just want to be what I thought I was, a regular kindergarten teacher.”

“And if Hydra hadn’t become an imminent threat, that’s what you would have been able to stay doing,” Puck says, climbing into the truck. “That’s a fact, it sucks, and it’s not fair. But they did. Get mad at Hydra.” 

“If I get mad at Hydra, does it make you mad?” Feels asks wearily, exuding even more defeat. “Does it make the lady at the register in Meijer mad? Does it make some police officer writing a speeding ticket mad?”

“Maybe get even instead,” Puck says, then sighs. “We’ll try to help you figure out the radius and ways to combat it. Kurt says your file said you had three past relationships. How long did they last?”

“Long enough,” Feels says. “A couple years a piece with Quinn and Rachel, about six months with Matt.”

Puck frowns, because if it takes a minimum of six months, that’s going to feel long. “Did you end it, them, or did it vary?”

“Varied. Different goals, wanted to live in different places. Usually reached a point where we spent more time fighting than anything else, then fighting about fighting, like some kind of vicious cycle.” Feels sighs loudly again and hangs his head, both hands to his temples. “And now I know _why_. Shit.”

“It sucks,” Puck says. “There’s no denying it. And hey, maybe S.H.I.E.L.D. leaving you alone wasn’t really the best idea, either. Maybe they should have told you, tried to see if it was controllable or trainable. I don’t know. But we all got our choices ripped away from us.” 

“Yeah. I guess we did.”

“Brave new world.” Puck nods towards the ignition. “Like a BandAid.” 

“Okay. I’m ready,” Feel says. Puck falls silent as Feels drives back towards his house, and when they pull up, Kurt has everything boxed, labeled, and possibly color-coded, waiting on the lawn in piles that Puck realizes after a moment correspond to locations: truck bed, front of the Jeep, back seat of the Jeep, and back of Jeep, as well as a few things that might be meant to be tied to the top of the Jeep’s roof. 

“I think I got everything packed,” Kurt says, walking between the stacks and looking at the boxes like he’s mentally X-raying them, which he might actually be doing. “Now I feel like there’s no way I actually accomplished that.”

"I'm impressed," Puck says. "Now I get to see if I can load it even half as fast?"

“It’s staged to go in in order,” Kurt says. “The boxes in the front and on top go in the back.”

Puck nods, then looks at Feels. "Go do a walk-through," he says, then looks at Kurt to make sure Kurt's willing to follow Feels. Kurt nods, and as Feels walks into the house, Kurt trails behind him. 

Puck loads the boxes as quickly as he can, marveling a little at the color-coding and overall efficiency. “Magic,” he says to himself, then laughs. They do have supers and assets, but no magic. He gets most of the boxes loaded before Feels and Kurt reappear.

“He got everything important,” Feels says, nodding his head in Kurt’s direction. “I have no idea how he managed to get all of that done in one school day.”

“It only took about three hours to pack it, once I’d developed a system for packing and loading,” Kurt says. 

“We don’t actually have magicians in S.H.I.E.L.D., but Kurt comes close,” Puck jokes. 

“It’s just something I do,” Kurt says, a little more humbly than he might usually. Feels must be rubbing off.

“So who’s driving first leg?” Puck says, hoisting one of the last boxes into the Jeep.

“I’ll take it,” Kurt offers. “Were you able to get in contact with your colleague about the new IDs?”

“She’ll make contact with us either in Hammond, Indiana, or Orland Park, Illinois,” Puck says. “She had figured I was one of the casualties, so she only insulted me three times.”

“Is that low?” Kurt asks.

Puck laughs. “Well, yeah. I insult her back. It’s just a thing we do.”

“Hmm. Friendship is an odd thing,” Kurt muses. “Are we almost ready?”

“Two more boxes, and we should lock up,” Puck says, then adds in a louder voice, “Ready for the bright sunshine?”

“Sunny Florida. I’m sure we’ll all enjoy the break from the Midwestern weather,” Kurt says. 

Feels just sighs, and Puck can tell that Feels is still a little sullen about the whole thing, because now Puck and Kurt are both frowning. Puck shrugs and opens the passenger door, motioning for Feels to climb in. Feels sits in the passenger seat, but then looks up at Puck, sighs, and slides into the middle without complaint.

“Any chance at all that this will work?” Kurt asks Puck quietly. 

Puck shrugs again. “Can’t hurt, right?” he says just as quietly. 

Kurt steers them out of Lima, heading south on I–75 a good fifteen or so miles before they get off, heading towards Bellafontaine and then US–68 to rejoin I–75 at Findlay. It’ll take them at least an hour longer, but they’re already distinctive with their towed Jeep; scrambling the route might give them an edge, Puck figures. 

The truck is silent, and Puck spends some of the time trying to teach himself to identify the emotions coming from Feels and then isolate them. Puck is pretty sure that he doesn’t himself feel particularly reluctant, regretful, or sad, and he spends ten minutes trying to forcibly feel enthusiastic instead, but he can’t maintain it for more than a few seconds at a time. 

Once they finally get back on I–75, Puck turns towards Feels. “We’ll be heading all the way up into Michigan before turning westward,” he explains. “Mostly interstates now, though.” 

“We’re meeting someone, right? Your colleague?” Feels asks.

“Not until close to Chicago, but yeah. Mercedes. We’ll still keep our old identification and credentials, but it’ll be good to have a different set for rental paperwork and utilities,” Puck says. “Now that you mention it, though, there’s a small S.H.I.E.L.D. outpost not far from our route in Michigan. Kurt, you think we should stop and see if there’s supplies or any communications starting back up?”

Kurt takes a moment to consider it before answering. “It’s a minimally staffed facility. I don’t think it’s likely it would be one of the first back online, but it’s also less likely to have been infiltrated. Nothing particularly sensitive was handled through that outpost.”

“So that’s good, right?” Feels asks.

“I think it’s probably safe enough to make the stop, at least,” Kurt says.

“The small outposts might be the way to rebuild, even,” Puck says. “I guess we have to assume places like the Hub are completely out of commission.” He shakes his head. “Any weapon you _do_ feel comfortable with?” 

“Not guns,” Feels says. “I really don’t think I’d be okay with hurting someone, period.”

“Not for hurting people, for defending yourself,” Puck says. “Or should we sign you up for martial arts?” 

“He does have size on his side,” Kurt says.

“I can hold my own in a fist fight if I have to,” Feel says. “I just really don’t enjoy it.”

“We’d be a lot more worried if you _did_ enjoy it,” Puck points out. As soon as he finishes speaking, he can feel the uneasiness rising in the truck, and he doesn’t feel any less affected than the day before or earlier that day.

Kurt is obviously picking up on the same emotions, because he says, “Hopefully it won’t be an issue, and we can worry about it once we’ve gotten settled.”

“Do you have any questions for us?” Puck asks. “Not… doesn’t have to be anything serious. I can’t produce my file for you to read, like Kurt already did.” He leans forward to grin at Kurt. 

“Though if you have any questions about any of our files, your own included, I can answer those as well,” Kurt says.

“Okay,” Feels says. “I guess, uh. How long have you two been together?”

“I was assigned to the Shoebox three months ago,” Puck says. “And I started trying to get Kurt to make the huffy face by… day three? Four?” 

“I think it was day _two_ ,” Kurt says.

“Oh, yeah, that’s right. The old Steve Rogers file. I put it under ‘C’ for ‘Captain’,” Puck explains to Feels. 

“ _Clearly_ with the sole purpose of antagonising me,” Kurt says. “Who would file it under ‘C’ for ‘Captain’ accidentally?”

“Did you ever figure out why the entire section on the fire-breathing family was refiled where it was?” Puck asks. 

“No. Would you care to elaborate?”

“Technically the word for ‘fire’ in Hebrew starts with a ‘p’,” Puck says. 

“Of course,” Kurt says, sighing dramatically. “Naturally.”

Puck can tell that Feels, at least, finds it amusing, and he grins a little. “What was your favorite one, though, Kurt?”

“The large batch you filed under ‘B’,” Kurt says ruefully.

“Another Hebrew word?” Feels asks.

“Boring,” Puck says, laughing. “I was going to add the telekinetic who could barely move a pencil to that group.” 

“You may as well have filed all the so-called psychics under ‘F’ for ‘Fake’,” Kurt adds. “Most of those files were barely worth keeping.”

“Poor fake psychics,” Puck says mock-sadly. “Any other questions?”

“How long have you guys been together-together?” Feels asks. The atmosphere in the truck is much closer to ‘happy’, which is exactly what Puck had hoped for when he invited Feels to ask questions. 

“Oh, about forty-eight,” Puck says with a wide grin.

Feels seems surprised. “Days?”

“Hours,” Kurt says. “We’ve had a little more full-disclosure than most couples have, not to mention that trust is a complete non-issue. There’s no question that I trust him fully.”

“Aww. That’s sweet,” Feels says, and now the feeling in the truck cab is closer to cartoon sunbeams of happiness, all originating with Feels. 

“I had to get him out of the Shoebox first,” Puck says. “That’s my theory, anyway.” 

“Why did they call it the Shoebox?” Feels asks.

“My guess was always that it was like the rock collections and ‘important papers’ you keep under your bed in shoeboxes as a kid,” Puck says. “Kurt, what do you think?”

“Because it was small,” Kurt says. “I thought that was obvious.”

“If it was just about being small, why not ‘Matchbox’ or ‘Dollhouse’?” Puck reasons. “Clearly it had to do with keeping things _safe_.”

“No, it’s because one is too flammable, and the other was a television show,” Kurt says.

“I liked that show,” Puck says. “Feels, what’s your favorite TV shows?” 

“I don’t really watch a lot of TV. Gives me a headache and makes my head feel kind of spacey,” Feels says. “I like to go to football games, when I can. I usually catch all the high school home games, at least, get over to Cleveland when I can for the Browns. Sometimes I’ll go up to Toledo for a play or something. Rachel, one of my exes, was really into theatre.”

“Live,” Puck mutters, mostly to himself. “Okay, any more questions for us?”

“Yeah. How many languages _do_ you guys speak?”

Kurt starts to laugh, shaking his head. “Not all of them, but enough to get by.”

“I don’t know Japanese, Cantonese, Korean, or Mandarin,” Puck says. “Which is not meant to imply that I speak all other languages. Those are just the ones I was considering next.” 

“Ooh, are you jealous that I speak something you don’t?” Kurt asks.

“It just seemed like I had neglected that part of the world,” Puck says. “I’m all set for a trip to the Middle East, though.” 

“Mmhmm. I’m sure,” Kurt says.

Feels laughs, warmth and happiness radiating through the truck’s cab. “You sure it was just forty-eight hours?”

“Hey, it’s not _my_ fault it took Kurt that long to appreciate my abs,” Puck says, grinning widely. 

“I appreciate subtlety. There was no subtlety to your ab-flashing,” Kurt says.

“Don’t listen to him. He was just too busy scurrying away from me to take a good look,” Puck says. “He also managed to ignore every single time I suggested ‘hand to hand’.”

“Analysts don’t spend that much of their time in combat training,” Kurt insists.

Feels laughs again. “I don’t think that’s what he meant, is it?”

“Like I said, he somehow managed to ignore the entire suggestion,” Puck says with his own laugh.

“Three years,” Kurt says. “I wasn’t used to subtext!”

“But I thought you appreciated subtlety?” Puck says mock-innocently. 

“Subtlety and subtext are not the same thing,” Kurt says, though any attempt at trying to be serious is undermined by the fact that he almost giggles at the end.

“I think he’s just unwilling to admit that he’s sad it took almost three months,” Puck says to Feels, shaking his head. 

“Or you could have spent less time intentionally provoking me,” Kurt points out, still looking like he’s fighting the urge to laugh.

“You _liked_ it,” Puck says. “You’re enjoying it right now.”

“I’m not!”

“You definitely are. You can’t help it,” Puck says with a shrug. 

“It’s his fault!” Kurt says, pointing at Feels, who just holds up his hands in surrender, laughing at them both.

Puck laughs, too. “Sorry, I’m not buying it.” The three of them ride in much more comfortable silence for awhile, and then Puck passes out some of the food he grabbed at Walmart the previous evening. 

They’re getting on I–94 near Ann Arbor when Puck asks Feels what he likes best about teaching, and Puck is pretty sure that if emotions could color the air, the truck cab would be sparkling rainbows or something as Feels answers. Feels keeps talking about teaching and his kids the entire hour between Ann Arbor and Battle Creek, where Kurt exits to I–194 before they head to the small S.H.I.E.L.D. outpost sandwiched between Kellogg’s buildings. 

“No visible changes,” Puck says after Kurt circles the block once. “Let me out, I’ll do a three-sixty before we park.”

“Be careful,” Kurt says, as he pulls up the to curb so Puck can climb out of the truck.

“Keep the windows down,” Puck says before he closes the door. “I’ll whistle if there’s trouble.” With that, he closes the door, heading towards the side of the building and slowly covering the perimeter, sticking close to the building itself. He doesn’t see any sign of problems, not even a broken lock or hinge, and when he gets back to the front, he waits for the truck to reappear, holding up one thumb discreetly. After they stop, he turns to Finn. 

“You’re Agent Hudson for the purposes of anyone we meet here,” Puck says. 

“Just try to focus on feeling confident,” Kurt says. “You belong here. If you feel it, they’ll feel it, too.”

Finn nods. “Agent Hudson,” he says, and the wave of emotions has a tangible shift to something resolute, almost over-confident.

“That works,” Kurt says, his eyebrows raised in surprise.

Puck leads the three of them to the entrance that looked the most worn when he circled it, and he frowns at the keypad. “Happen to know the code, Kurt? Or do I need to pick a lock?”

Kurt glances up briefly, then nods, quickly reciting, “Four-zero-zero-three.” His voice slips into the file-accessing tone as he continues, “Five-nine-two-zero.”

Puck punches in the number and exhales as he hears the lock click open. The number being the same suggests to him that Hydra might not have taken over, at least not yet. “I’d say good memory, but we’ve mostly established that,” Puck says as he pushes the door wide enough for them to slip inside. 

“Oh, no, I didn’t remember the code,” Kurt says. “It changes on an alternating schedule using an algorithm. I thought it would be on its third rotation since the last list of access codes.”

“Wow,” Feels says, accompanied by the sensation of being immensely impressed. “He’s like a super-computer!”

Puck frowns and shakes his head. “No, it’s not computing,” he says slowly. “This is an outpost with a rotating roster of agents. One should be on duty and coming to see what we’re doing here, any minute now. If we’re lucky, we get an analyst or a scientist, not a specialist.” 

“What happens if we get a specialist?” Feels asks.

“Less talking,” Puck says, looking down both directions of the hallway when they come to a ‘T’ intersection. “Looks like left is more well-traveled.” 

“No matter who’s on duty, we all like the break room,” says a voice from behind them suddenly. “Agent Piereson.” 

Feels startles, and Puck’s sure they all feel a little jolt of surprise. “Agents Hudson, Hummel, and Puckerman,” Puck responds, not indicating who is who. “We’re traveling through and thought we’d see if any of the old infrastructure was in place.” 

“Traveling?” Piereson asks. “Not running? Not that I’d blame you. I’d run if I had a destination in mind, but for now I’m waiting.”

“Not running,” Kurt says. “On duty. We were hoping we could restock on supplies. Ammo?” He glances at Puck. “Rations, that sort of thing.”

“On duty, still?” Piereson says. “That’s optimistic of you.” 

“Orders are orders, regardless of how long it’ll be before we can make a full report,” Puck says. “What are your supplies like?” 

“I don’t know if I’m authorized to—” Piereson starts to say, before Puck cuts him off. 

“Clearance level?” 

“Three,” Piereson says, a little too proudly considering what he’s saying. 

“We’re all level seven or above,” Puck says shortly, trying not to roll his eyes. “Supply levels?” 

Piereson clicks his tongue and motions for the three of them to follow him. “Perhaps I should come with you, if you’re still executing orders. That’s more than I’m doing here.” 

“Are you the only staffer left here?” Kurt asks.

“I’m the only one who’s reported for duty since the data dump,” Piereson says. “I assume the others are attempting to find employment in the private sector, or were Hydra.”

“Probably safe assumptions,” Puck admits, a little grudgingly. He whistles appreciatively when Piereson leads them into the outpost’s supply area. “We’ll have to consider logistics. Give us ten minutes,” Puck says, and tries to sound apologetic as he says “Clearance, you know.” 

“Oh, of course!” Piereson leaves the room, and Puck listens to him walk down the hall and through another door before he turns to Kurt and Feels. 

“What do we think?” Puck says. “He could be Hydra. Or he could be like us, but alone and not high enough to access any secure channels.” 

“I wish we’d been given something we could use to recognize other non-Hydra agents,” Kurt says. “Even a list of potentially compromised agents would have been enough for me to start with. I haven’t even seen the name ‘Piereson’ come across in any of the files in the Shoebox.”

“He’s probably really level one,” Puck says with a sigh. “If we take him, it’ll be like babysitting. Maybe we let him follow and hand him off to Mercedes? He never has to know we actually stay in Chicago that way.” 

Kurt nods slowly. “If you think that’s a good idea.”

“I’m more afraid of what a loose cannon could do, if we leave him here unattended,” Puck admits. “What if he tells the next visitors about us, but they _are_ Hydra?” 

“Then I guess we don’t have much of a choice.”

“Feels? Any thoughts?” 

“I’m just trying to concentrate on being an agent,” Feels admits. “I’m afraid to think too hard about anything else.”

“Then it’s better he’s in his own vehicle following,” Puck says firmly. “I’ll get ammo and weapons and non-consumable supplies. Kurt, you and Feels check the consumables.” 

“Anything in particular you want?” Kurt asks.

“You probably know what I ate at every single meal for the last three months,” Puck points out.

“I’m not a computer,” Kurt snaps, and then Puck is hit by an overwhelming wash of guilt. He glances at Finn long enough to see that he’s frowning deeply and looking both sad and guilty. 

“I just meant you’d know if something was novel by comparison,” Puck says. “Fake-turkey instead of fake-chicken or something.” 

Kurt nods briefly. “Okay. _Agent_ Hudson and I will go see what they have.”

Puck quickly picks up all the ammo for the guns they have, and wishes he could justify the space needed to clear out all the ammo, just so Hydra can’t find it later. None of the other weaponry looks like anything Feels would use, but he does pick up a small gun that Kurt could use, if he doesn’t already have a backup piece. 

He looks in the closet adjoining the supply area, which is full of office supplies, primarily printer paper, and wishes they had a chance to look through the entire outpost without Piereson shadowing them. He’s more and more sure that Piereson is probably level two at best, and more likely level one, which also means that Puck and Kurt will have to keep him from having a minor heart attack at the ‘fraternizing’ of two agents. 

When Puck finishes, he rejoins Kurt and Feels, kissing Kurt briefly and winking at him. “Let’s go get our babysitting charge,” he says. 

“And here the three of us were finally getting so cozy together,” Kurt says, managing a small smile. 

“We’ll find a motel not far from here,” Puck says. “Maybe an hour or two. If we get lucky, we’ll be able to ditch him still in Indiana. I’d say poor Mercedes, but she probably needs something to keep her busy. I was the first agent she’d heard from.” 

Piereson is down the hall behind the door Puck expected, looking at some kind of file, and Puck doesn’t bother telling him to secure anything. At level one, everything Piereson handles was in the data dump for sure. “You can follow behind us in your own vehicle,” Puck says. “We’ll be using a motel room for the evening; you’ll secure and pay for your own. When we have a scheduled rendezvous tomorrow, you’ll go with that agent. Acceptable?”

“Of course,” Piereson says, standing hurriedly and following them from the office back to the entrance. When he turns to get his vehicle, Puck leans towards Kurt. 

“ _Now_ I wish it involved reading thoughts,” Puck whispers. 

“Would be useful,” Kurt says. 

“Do you think he’ll stick with us even to the motel?” Puck says. “We should keep an eye on him, but I don’t want us to split up.” 

“You want one of us to ride with him?” Kurt asks. 

“It seems equally risky for someone to ride with him as for someone not to.” Puck frowns. “What’s our worst-case if no one rides with him? He drives off with the license plate number on the S.H.I.E.L.D. Jeep and gives some information to Hydra, right?”

“Right, though that information does include our names.”

“Hopefully he forgot at least one.” Puck looks over his shoulder dubiously. “What do you think his role here was?” 

“Clerk? If he were another analyst, I’d know the name.” Kurt shrugs. “I suppose he could have been in the field, just not doing anything significant to makes its way into any file I’d have come across.”

“I don’t think he has a prodigious memory. Let’s take our chances. If he is Hydra, sending one of us with him might tip his hand,” Puck says finally, heading toward the truck. “Want me to take this leg?”

“Yes, please,” Kurt says. 

Puck nods and takes the keys, driving the truck westward and trying to decide where to stop. They need to make good time, but he doesn’t want to tip too much of their hand too soon, in case Piereson is gone by the next morning, so when he sees a sign for a Holiday Inn before I–196 splits off, he exits, then pulls into the Burger King lot, motioning for Piereson to go on ahead to the Holiday Inn Hotel & Indoor Water Park. 

“Guess I’ll have a use for those swim trunks,” Puck jokes after going through the drive-through for three pops, mostly so Piereson will be out of the lobby before they arrive. 

“I’m sure the parrots will be very flattering,” Kurt says.

“They’ll actually be appropriate at a place called ‘Surfari Joe’s’,” Puck says, shaking his head. “Okay, who should be visible on the security tapes?”

“Me,” Kurt says. “I’m the least significant, as far as Hydra would be concerned. Finn is an asset and you’ve got the field experience. I’ve just been sitting in a box, mining data.”

“Ask for a room near the waterpark,” Puck says. “Piereson probably asked for a quiet one.” 

“Okay.” Kurt nods, and as Puck pulls up in front of the Holiday Inn lobby, Kurt hops out and goes in to get their rooms. 

“That Piereson guy never asked where we were stationed before,” Feels says, watching the lobby door close behind Kurt. “Is that how it usually goes?”

Puck startles a little, then frowns. “No,” he admits. “And with a smaller outpost like the Shoebox, I’d expect a question about where, generally, it is. I don’t think things would have changed that much already.”

“When we’d get a new teacher, first thing anybody wanted to know was where they taught before,” Feels says. 

“Which puts me back in the same place as before: really dumb, or Hydra?” Puck says, shaking his head and sighing. “The number of agents that were Hydra—it’d be like you going to work one day and finding out a lot of your colleagues weren’t really teachers, but suspected child murderers and kidnappers.” 

“Jesus,” Feels mutters, and Puck feels almost like he’s taking a punch, the way the revulsion and betrayal hits, the end of it carrying a hint of sorrow. 

“Yeah.” Puck sighs a second time. “Our list of agents we can trust without reservation is small. Eventually we’ll go through the files that were released, and start piecing things together.” He snorts. “I’m sure Romanoff had her reasons, and it’s better to know we were compromised, but it’s a brand new set of problems.” 

“Kurt could do it pretty fast, couldn’t he?” Feels asks. “Go through all those files. That seems like something he could do.”

“Yeah, he could,” Puck says slowly, nodding as he thinks about Kurt analyzing the files. “But not while we’re still in transit.” 

“I’ve got an iPhone. He could look up whatever he needs on it.”

“Distraction issue. He’s not really a field agent.” Puck shrugs as he spots Kurt returning to the truck. “And our primary mission is still your safety, not rebuilding.”

“I didn’t mean anything by the computer thing. I didn’t know it was insulting,” Feels says.

“Yeah, I did it once, too,” Puck says. “But he had a real douchebag of an ex-boyfriend who didn’t understand why Kurt was more of an asset—more valuable to S.H.I.E.L.D.” Puck shakes his head, rolling down the window as Kurt approaches. “Did we get our easy-access to Surfari Joe’s?”

“Hope you’re ready to model those parrots!” Kurt says, brandishing a key card.

Puck laughs. “Only if you’re going down one of the slides.” 

“I can’t make any promises.”

 

**[Agent K. Hummel, S.H.I.E.L.D., Mobile Operations, Report 6, 2000 Hours]**

_Have made contact with Agent Piereson at Battle Creek facility. Some suspicions about Piereson’s actual duties and clearance level; couldn’t leave him behind, but can’t safely take him with us to destination. Accompanying us to rendezvous with Agent Jones. Doesn’t seem competent enough to be a credible threat, and doesn’t seem to be aware that Mr. Hudson is an asset._

_As hotel location has attached indoor water park facility, interested in seeing if Mr. Hudson’s ability is amplified or dampened (no pun intended) by water. Also interested in seeing Agent Puckerman in parrot-print swim shorts._

**[End Journal Entry]**


	11. Chapter 11

Puck assumes Piereson won’t go to the water park, but since he had Kurt ask for a room nearby, he knows they should. He tells Feels that, if anyone asks, he’s a cousin of either Kurt or Puck’s, and they’re meeting more relatives tomorrow. That determined, they leave their room to spend an hour in the water park, and Puck is glad his body can deal with physical activity and little sleep, because by the time they get to bed, combined with their wake-up time, he’d be exhausted otherwise.

He goes out early to check on the truck and the Jeep, and sees that Piereson’s vehicle is still there. When he gets back to the room, Kurt is up, making coffee with the off-brand Keurig-like coffeemaker in the room. 

“Piereson hasn’t done a runner,” Puck reports quietly. “Looks like we’re stuck with him for the next three or four hours, depending on where and when we meet Mercedes.” 

“That could be good or bad,” Kurt says. 

“Yeah, exactly.” Puck steps beside Kurt, glancing at a still-sleeping Feels before kissing Kurt. “I know I should have just tied him up or something, but we’re not Hydra.”

“He doesn’t seem competent enough to be, either,” Kurt says. “Of course, we haven’t really asked him much of anything, not enough to really ascertain if his story is shaky.”

“I don’t want to be too interested,” Puck admits, sliding his arm around Kurt’s waist and his hand under Kurt’s t-shirt. “If Mercedes hands him off, I want him to just remember us as competent agents following orders. Nothing more, nothing less.” 

“Mmm. Don’t start anything we’ll have to stop if Finn wakes up,” Kurt says.

“We could go in the bathroom and lock the door,” Puck offers, then kisses below Kurt’s ear and down his neck. Before Kurt can respond, Feels does seem to wake up, because there’s a sudden wash of slight embarrassment, and Puck laughs softly. “’Morning, Feels. Coffee?”

“Sure. Thanks,” Feels says. “You mind if I grab the shower?”

“Go for it,” Puck says, nodding towards the bathroom. Feels gets up, grabs his bag, and heads into the bathroom.

“How long to the meet point with Mercedes?” Kurt asks.

“Hammond’s only about an hour and a half from here, I think, assuming we don’t have any trouble, but she said she’d meet us either at 2 pm in Hammond or 4 pm in Orland Park. I’d rather get there ahead of her, anyway. It gives us a chance to secure the site.” Puck shakes his head. “There’s free breakfast, which we should take advantage of. Plus it’d look weird not to.”

“What if Mercedes won’t take Piereson with her?”

“Then we’ll have to make it look like Piereson was mugged,” Puck says. “Trash his car, tie him up, take his wallet, any weapons, and any electronics. It’s bad enough he’s going to know we were heading west for part of the trip.” 

“We’ll probably have to separate him from Finn to do anything like that,” Kurt says.

“I trust Mercedes to keep an eye on Feels for fifteen minutes,” Puck says. “But yeah, we won’t let Feels know exactly what’s happening.” 

“This is starting to have too many moving parts,” Kurt says. “I don’t like it.”

“Me either. Tonight should be a lot calmer,” Puck says. “If it’s not, we’ll have to rethink our next steps.” 

Kurt nods. “For now, we’ve got at least five minutes while he’s in the shower.”

Puck grins, and somehow they manage to be sitting at the table, drinking their coffee, when Feels finishes his shower and emerges from the bathroom. The three of them head to the free breakfast and finish eating without seeing Piereson, and Puck goes around the hotel room twice before they go to the truck, moving it so that they can see Piereson’s vehicle. 

Piereson appears a good twenty-five minutes later, looking like he spent at least forty-five minutes grooming, and Puck shakes his head from his position behind the wheel of the truck. 

“Follow behind,” he says after rolling his window down, and once Piereson nods, Puck starts the truck and rolls the window up again. “He’s too agreeable,” Puck mutters.

“He could be hoping to latch on to a group of agents with an actual mission,” Kurt says. 

“Understandable, I guess, but it’s odd that he doesn’t know what happened to the others assigned to his outpost,” Puck says, looking to make sure Piereson is following before getting back on I–94. “Keep an eye out for anyone else following us, just in case he did contact someone.” 

Kurt nods, and they travel quietly for about twenty minutes before Kurt leans and squints at the sideview mirror. “I think we might have a tail.”

“Guess the question is, bad luck or Piereson?” Puck says, sighing a little. “Does it look government agency? I saw this morning that some law enforcement is trying to round up people like us.” 

“It looks nondescript,” Kurt says. “Perfectly nondescript, one could say.”

Puck frowns. “Yeah, that sounds a little too perfect.” He makes a deliberate effort over the next thirty minutes to change his speed, change his lane of travel, and overall drive both Piereson and the tail, assuming it is a tail, absolutely crazy. They’re about thirty minutes from Hammond when Puck looks at Kurt briefly. 

“Still there?”

“Gray sedan, lightly tinted windows,” Kurt says. “Didn’t change lanes with us, but it’s matching our speed, two cars back.”

“We should exit soon,” Puck says. “See if we can lose it and take back roads to Hammond. You think Piereson’s noticed?” 

“I think the only way that idiot would notice is if he’s the one who called them,” Kurt says. 

Feels seems to disapprove of some of that sentiment, and Puck keeps up his own experiment, trying to see if he can force the disapproval in a particular direction. “Maybe not even then,” Puck says, scanning the signs along the road. “We’ll take exit nineteen.” 

Exit nineteen keeps advertising its Bass Pro Shop, which provides a large parking lot and a number of trucks with trailers, and Puck finds two spots adjacent to each other but between larger diesel-powered pickups, where he rolls down the window and waits for Piereson to do the same. 

“What’s going on?” Piereson asks. “Is this the rendezvous point?”

Puck sighs and shakes his head. “We think we have a tail. We need to try to lose it and take surface streets to the rendezvous.” 

“A tail?” Piereson looks alarmed. “Like… Hydra?”

“Maybe. Maybe government agency.” Puck shrugs and looks at Kurt, eyebrows raised.

“Could even be some other private organization,” Kurt says. “Someone looking to cash in on turning a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent over to Hydra, or interrogate one for information for private sector use.”

“I don’t want to be interrogated!” Piereson looks even more alarmed. “And I don’t know anything about evasive driving.” 

“I really wish that outpost had been abandoned,” Puck mutters, then looks at Kurt again. “Should one of us ride the last bit with him?”

Kurt sighs, but nods. “You stay with Agent Hudson,” he says. “I’ll ride with Piereson.”

“See if he’ll let you drive,” Puck says, frowning. “Be careful.”

“I will. Piereson,” Kurt calls out the window. “Move around to the passenger side. I’m with you.”

Piereson doesn’t argue, though Puck assumes that could be in part because of the way Puck’s glaring, and Puck restarts the truck, heading away from I–94 and towards US–12, which he hopes will be enough of a surface street to suffice. 

“I don’t like this,” Puck says to Feels as they drive slowly away. “Is that a grey sedan?” 

“Yeah, looks like,” Feel says, radiating unease. 

“It’s not that I don’t think Kurt can take care of himself,” Puck says, “but I don’t know. Maybe I should have gone with Piereson.” 

“He’s had all the agent training, too, right?” Feels asks. 

“Everyone goes through the same basic training, yeah, but ultimately, he’s an analyst and I’m a specialist,” Puck says. “It’s not just that, though.” He shrugs, trying to push the uneasiness to the side, especially since he can tell Feels is contributing to it. “Shit, they’re trying to get between us.”

“Maybe they don’t realize we’re together?”

“I’m not getting on US–12 like this,” Puck decides, continuing under US–12 and following the road that seems to be leading them towards a warehouse and railyard. “If they do realize we’re together, they may also know you’re not really an agent, you know?” 

“Shit,” Feels says. “So if we do get split up, will they follow us or them?”

“I would assume us,” Puck says, pulling into a large parking lot to the right and circling around a building, the Jeep on its trailer swinging behind them. “It looks like there are people working in there. We can use their building to blend in if we have to.” 

When Puck looks behind them, Kurt has managed to get back in front of the grey sedan, and Puck stops, hurriedly unbuckling and unholstering his gun. 

“I know you don’t like ’em, but we’ve got to stay safe.” 

“Shit,” Feels says. “Shit, shit, shit. What do you need me to do?”

Feels is giving off a confusing mix of panic and resolve, and Puck shakes his head once to clear it. “Stay down, don’t respond to anyone but Kurt or I, and if you get a chance, get inside and get to a bathroom.” 

“What about you and Kurt?”

“We’re trained agents. We’ll come get you when it’s over,” Puck says shortly, climbing out of the truck and raising his gun slightly as the grey sedan comes to a stop. He looks over at Kurt and Piereson, exiting Piereson’s vehicle, and Kurt’s gun is similarly drawn. 

“Grab the asset!” Piereson shouts excitedly as soon as the doors on the grey sedan open, and Puck feels like shooting Piereson right there. 

“Answers that question,” Puck mutters to himself, bringing his gun up and shooting at the grey sedan’s driver. It takes more shots than Puck would like, mainly because the Hydra agent is a moving target, but he drops to the ground, out of whatever fight is about to transpire, and Puck looks around for Feels. 

Feels is sprinting around behind one of the buildings, out of sight, and when Puck looks back in Kurt’s direction, he’s diving behind Piereson’s car. Puck pivots to put his gun on the other occupant of the grey sedan, leaving Piereson to Kurt, but the other Hydra agent isn’t following Feels. He isn’t even _looking_ at Feels, and Puck frowns as he shoots in his direction. 

“I said _secure_ the asset, not yell about him!” the Hydra agent snaps at Piereson, who does have a gun drawn now. 

“Drop your weapon, fucking Nazi,” Puck yells. 

Kurt pops up behind the hood of Piereson’s car, firing at Piereson and putting a shot through his gun arm. Piereson screams, his gun clattering to the ground, and he starts moving towards the other Hydra agent, who doesn’t glance at Piereson. 

The Hydra agent keeps looking between Puck and Kurt, but only firing at Puck, and Puck starts to have a no good, very bad feeling that he’s pretty sure has nothing whatsoever to do with Feels, especially since Feels seems to have listened and gone inside the building. 

Puck doesn’t really want to deal with leaving behind three bodies, but there’s already at least one, and no one needs to know details to report back to Hydra. “Take ’em out!” he calls to Kurt. 

Kurt nods, firing at Piereson again, this time straight through his head. Piereson’s face has only a moment to register shock before he keels forward. Puck grins a little before aiming at the remaining Hydra agent, this time getting in two good hits. 

“Reconstruct what happened?” Puck says, handing his gun carefully to Kurt. “I’ll get Feels, meet us on the other side of the building.” 

Kurt nods again, looking a little pale and shaken, but resolved. “Make sure he’s calm before I get back there. I need a minute to process it all, and I can’t do that if he’s panicking.”

“Yeah. He’ll be calm.” Puck looks around once, then quickly kisses Kurt. “We’ll be fine.”

“Okay. This will take me five to ten minutes, to do it thoroughly.”

“Okay.” Puck walks into the building confidently, hoping no one there will question him about the gunfire taking place outside their offices. Luck or something is on his side, because everyone looks at whatever they’re doing, not at him, seemingly happy to stay as uninvolved as possible. 

Before finding the bathroom, Puck stops in an empty breakroom and buys three pops and three candy bars, staring at the table in the middle of the room. They hadn’t noticed Feels. They hadn’t gone after Feels when Piereson screamed about the asset. Kurt had been recruited for his ability and capacity. Kurt was the one who had somehow organized packing an entire house in a matter of hours, categorizing what needed to be packed and what didn’t, along with organizing exactly what would pack where. 

“Protect the asset. Keep him from Hydra,” Puck says out loud, shaking his head slowly. “Well, fuck me.” He snorts at his own joke, then picks up the pops and candy. “Maybe this is better,” he says to himself. “Keeps everyone busy.” 

Feels probably wouldn’t feel that way if he knew about it, but now Feels is definitely going to be on Hydra’s radar, even sooner than he would have, and Puck sighs as he heads into the bathroom. How was he supposed to know May’s orders were directed at _him_ specifically, and not Kurt? 

“Feels?” 

“Yeah?” Feels calls back.

“We’re going to meet Kurt out front in about five minutes,” Puck says. “Want a pop?”

“Everything’s cool?”

“We’re good, yeah. We’ll still even make the meeting with Mercedes,” Puck says.

“Okay, cool,” Feels says, coming out of the bathroom with a fire extinguisher in one hand and a fire ax in the other. Instead of emotions, Feels just seems to be caught up in a never-ending adrenaline spike. 

“We need to calm down before we meet Kurt. You want to run up and down the hall or something?” 

“Is Kurt okay? Is he with Piereson?”

“Piereson’s Hydra. Kurt’s fine,” Puck says. “Would I be buying three pops if he wasn’t?”

“Right. Right, okay,” Feels says. He lets the fire extinguisher drop to the ground with a loud, echoing clang, but doesn’t let go of the ax. 

“You want to keep the ax?” Puck asks. “It’s not the worst defensive weapon.” 

Feels looks down at his hand like he didn’t even realize he was holding an ax, then nods. “Yeah. I want to keep the ax.”

“Okay. Tell me about your favorite play that you’ve seen.” 

“Uh. I like the, uh.” Feels takes a deep breath, and the adrenaline recedes a little. “The musicals.”

“Yeah? You and Kurt’ll have something to discuss, then,” Puck says. “Nana used to make sure we watched _The Sound of Music_ every year.” 

“Yeah?”

“ _Fiddler on the Roof_ every few years. Have you see either of those?”

“Not live or anything,” Feels says. “I saw _The Sound of Music_ on tape when I was a kid. I like that Mormon one a lot.”

“Is it funny or dramatic?” Puck asks. “Kurt was telling me about one about women on death row.” 

“ _Chicago_ , right?” 

“Yeah, I think so. Then he got really weird about it. Guess you should know, too,” Puck says as he slowly leads Feels down the hallway. “I say my dad left, because it was his choices, but he’s serving time. Life, no parole.” 

“Oh. Shit, sorry, man,” Feels says. “That’s rough.” The wave of empathy and concern that Feels is giving off is strong enough to dissipate the adrenaline spike, and Puck mentally congratulates himself. 

“Like I said, it was his choices. I think probably I came out ahead, in the end, since Nana moved in with us then,” Puck says, turning towards the front of the building. “But we should all go see the Mormon one, if it’s funny.” 

“Yeah, it’s really funny,” Feels says. “It’s from the _Southpark_ guys.”

“Oh, yeah, okay.” Puck nods and opens the door, looking down the sides of the building just as Kurt turns around the corner. “Back to our rendezvous point, on I–94,” he says almost cheerfully. 

“Cool. Do we have to drop Piereson or the other Hydra people off with anyone?” Feels asks.

“That’s already been taken care of,” Puck says, trying to be as vague as possible as Kurt comes to a stop in front of them. 

Kurt rolls down the window. “Ready?”

“All set,” Puck says, opening the door. “Feels is going to keep the ax, though.”

“Could he perhaps put the ax _behind_ the seats?” Kurt asks.

“Probably the best plan,” Puck agrees, nodding at Feels to do so before climbing in. Puck shuts the door and tries not to look suspiciously at Kurt, but he wonders if Kurt’s reached the same conclusion that Puck has. 

“Reconstruct now or later?” Kurt asks. 

“Later,” Puck answers with a glance at Feels. Kurt nods, and as soon as Feels and Puck are buckled, he circles wide around the building, not coming close to the discarded Hydra vehicles and bodies.

The three of them are silent during the remainder of the drive to their rendezvous point with Mercedes, and they arrive in Hammond a good two hours before the appointed time. 

“Go through a drive-through, and then we’ll secure the site,” Puck says, gesturing at a Wendy’s they’re approaching. Kurt nods and gets into the short drive-through line. After they get their food, Kurt drives the short distance to Hammond Lead Products, which is sitting on the rail lines and doesn’t really have a big enough parking lot for their truck with trailer. 

Puck frowns as they continue driving, taking in the industrial buildings, and eventually they make the long, winding block. Puck snorts and shakes his head. 

“Just like Mercedes, making life difficult. Or maybe it’s just Indiana.”

“Do we know what we’re looking for?” Kurt asks. 

“A red and blue seven-pointed star,” Puck says. “Probably as a magnet on the back of whatever she’s driving.” 

Kurt nods, driving slowly as they look out the windows on both sides of the truck. Puck starts to think that Mercedes is just going to be at the other rendezvous point, especially after they make the block twice, but then he snorts. 

“Staff Source parking lot, just ahead,” he says.

Kurt pulls into the parking lot, leaving two spaces between the truck and the bright purple Mustang, which sure enough, sports a small red and blue seven-pointed star on the back.

“Always blending in,” Puck says, climbing out of the truck slowly and shaking his head in the direction of the purple-tinted windows.

One of those windows slowly lowers, and an arm sticks out of it, hand clutching a gun, followed by a voice saying, “Stand where I can see you, Puckerman.”

“Did you _ask_ for nails to match the car?” Puck says. “Come on, I’ve already been in a gunfight today.”

“It’s called making a statement,” Mercedes says. She pulls her arm back into the car, then opens the door, standing and shaking her head at Puck. “You look like two hundred miles of bad road.”

“Trust me, it’s been at least a thousand, and making a statement is a good way to stand out _too_ much,” Puck says. “Met up with anyone else, friend or foe?”

“Haven’t seen anyone in person. Talked to Brown out in Bethesda. He says it’s a mess, maybe ten people from his staff of forty-five that he can say for sure aren’t Hydra,” Mercedes says. 

“That many sounds like a _good_ thing, compared to how bad it could be,” Puck says, then jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “Feels, aka Finn, and Kurt.”

“A _named_ asset?” Mercedes asks. “Boy, you _are_ in trouble.”

“Oh, trust me, you don’t even know,” Puck mutters, shaking his head. “We left three Hydra agents on the other side of Gary, though, so we should either make this quick or head somewhere else.”

“I’ve got a temporary shop set up. Follow me there. It’s not far.” Mercedes doesn’t wait for a answer before climbing back into her Mustang and closing the door. 

Puck sighs and climbs back into the truck. “We’re following her. I’ll make sure we don’t pick up another tail.”

“That’s quite a car,” Kurt says, as he follows the purple Mustang out of the parking lot. 

“Mercedes has this theory that you should blend in by looking like you want to stand out, or something.” Puck shakes his head. “Maybe we should ask her where to get an enclosed trailer, and ditch the Jeep, since that probably was passed on to Hydra.”

“She’s got style,” Kurt says begrudgingly. “I’ll give her that. And yes to ditching the Jeep.”

They don’t have to follow Mercedes very long before she pulls up at a gated storage facility, punching the code once and waving them around her and in before she enters, punching in the code a second time. Puck scans the area as they follow her down the row, nodding a little to himself. 

“Or we can just ‘borrow’ the trailer at the end of the row,” Puck says. “They’ll get a Jeep in return.”

“It’s a nice Jeep. Seems like a fair trade to me,” Kurt says. Feels radiates mild disapproval, but doesn’t argue with Puck’s suggestion or Kurt’s assessment of the trade.

“At least no one’s going to be looking for us in a storage facility,” Puck says as they stop behind Mercedes. 

“Should I keep a watch on the perimeter?” Kurt asks. 

“No,” Puck says quickly, frowning. “The perimeter’s, uh. Too big to patrol anyway,” he says, making up the excuse as he’s talking. “We’ll just all stay together.”

“You’re sure you can trust her?”

“Yeah,” Puck says. “Probably the only rank-and-file agent outside of us that I do, now.” 

“Okay,” Kurt says, nodding. “If you trust her, _we_ trust her.” He glances at Feels for confirmation, and Feels also nods.

“Right,” Feels says.

“Let’s get ourselves alternate last names, then,” Puck says, and after they climb out of the truck, he asks Kurt quietly, “Gun?” 

“Do you think she’ll have anything here?” Kurt replies.

Puck shrugs. “Not her specialty, but she could have stockpiled recently.”

“It doesn’t look like a very big unit,” Kurt says, watching Mercedes slowly roll the door up on a unit not quite centered on the row.

“Luckily guns aren’t that big,” Puck says, looking up and down the row. “What will the local PD think happened back there?”

“If either of the Hydra agents in the grey sedan have S.H.I.E.L.D. badges, they’ll think it happened almost exactly like it did,” Kurt says. “Three on two, and the two fled the scene. Nothing there to indicate it was us. Very easy to pin on the internal Hydra/S.H.I.E.L.D. conflict.”

“Internal,” Puck repeats, shaking his head as Mercedes waves them closer.

“There’s no way anyone could know from the scene that they were after Finn,” Kurt says.

“No, that’s true,” Puck says, a little wryly, and then takes in the set-up Mercedes has. Inside the storage unit is what looks like a very small open elevator, ready to descend below the ground. “Hidden workshop? Clever.”

“You know I was always the smart one,” Mercedes says, gesturing for Puck, Kurt, and Feels to walk into the elevator first.

“You get called an ‘untraditional learner’ _once_ and that’s all anyone remembers,” Puck grumbles, frowning at Mercedes and then switching to Turkish. “And now you have no idea what I’m saying about you or if Kurt or Feels understands me.” 

“Go ahead and show off all you want,” Mercedes says, pressing a button that lowers the elevator. “I’m still the one you had to come to for the paperwork.”

“Who am I showing off for?” Puck asks, still in Turkish. 

“Hmm. Let me guess. Not the tall one?” Mercedes says, smiling sweetly at Finn. “Do we have to go through this every time?”

“No, next time it’ll be in a different language,” Puck says, then switches back to English. “Don’t you dare try to make me Irish again.”

“You’re no fun,” Mercedes grumbles. The elevator lands with a bump. The room they’re now in is large, and has multiple workstations, computers, various printing equipment, and several machines that Puck can’t identify. “So… drivers’ licenses, passports, new title on that truck up there?”

“Yep,” Puck says. “We’ll use our own credentials to get jobs, but that way we can run under the radar for rent and utilities.” 

“Makes sense, even if it’s a pretty boring job,” Mercedes says. “All domestic?”

“I only speak English and a little bit of Spanish,” Feels says, with the accompanying apologetic emotional aura. “Sorry.”

“Wow. You weren’t making it up, were you? He’s the real deal,” Mercedes says to Puck, gesturing in Feels’ direction. 

“Definitely the real deal,” Puck agrees, nodding once. _Two_ real deals, and at least Kurt’s an agent as well, or Puck would feel even more like he’d been thrown in the deep end. 

“I think you’re cute, too, handsome,” Mercedes says to Feels, winking at him. He looks startled and his face turns a little red, which means they’re all treated to a rolling wave of embarrassment. 

“You two both grew up in the same town?” Kurt asks Puck quietly. “And it’s still standing?”

“I haven’t been back to check, but supposedly,” Puck says with a wide grin. “We didn’t really run in the same crowd, but it’s always been good to know there was someone else in S.H.I.E.L.D. that had the same background, you know?”

“I’m sure,” Kurt says. “Or, I’d guess, anyway.”

“We could be, hmm. Pick a nice Jewish surname,” Puck says. “Cohen isn’t the best, though.”

“Does it have to be Jewish?” Kurt asks.

“Can _I_ be Jewish?” Feels asks.

“There you go,” Kurt says. “You and Finn can be brothers.”

“Back to putting cheese sauce on the table,” Puck says with a dramatic sigh.

“Are you telling me you _still_ won’t eat a damn piece of bacon, Puckerman?” Mercedes asks.

“You and Kurt can complain about me keeping kosher,” Puck says, rolling his eyes. “I’m not trying to tell _you_ not to eat bacon, Mercedes.”

“I haven’t complained. I’ve said I’m willing to work around your dietary needs,” Kurt says, making the huffy face.

Puck grins at Kurt and laughs. “There it is,” he says, a little smugly. “And sure, Feels. Got a last name you like?” 

“Ginsburg, like the Supreme Court lady,” Feels says. “She’s cool.”

“Noah Ginsburg,” Puck says, then shrugs. “Sure. Kurt, did you have a name you wanted to use?”

“Something that won’t really draw any attention. Not so plain that it’s noteworthy, like Smith, but nothing unusual. Allen, maybe, or Harris.”

“Kurt Allen. Kurt Harris.” Puck frowns, thinking. “Go with Harris. Middle of the alphabet.”

“Kurt Harris it is, then,” Kurt says. 

“What do you need from us, Mercedes?” Puck says. “And do you have any guns stockpiled?”

“I have a few. What’re you looking for?” Mercedes asks. She gestures to a small circle of comfortable-looking chairs, clustered around a low table, all of it crammed in between two work stations. 

“Need a new primary,” Puck says. “Standard M&P. None of them were ever registered anywhere, right?” 

Mercedes just snorts and shakes her head as she walks over to a metal cabinet hanging on the wall. She opens the doors, revealing an assortment of twenty-some-odd pistols and a half-dozen rifles. 

“Take your pick,” she says. “No registration, no serials.”

“Perfect,” Puck says, picking up two and hefting them, one in each hand. “You should get a secondary, Kurt. Maybe a rifle for each of us.” 

“I’ve got a couple of the M&P Compacts, if that’s what you’re used to,” Mercedes says. “A few of the smaller Glocks and some SIG-Sauers, too. P226es.”

The anxiety level in the small underground room starts to rise, and Puck decides on the gun in his left hand, replacing the other one. “Hurry,” he says quietly to Kurt. 

“I’m fine with the Compact,” Kurt says, reaching for one of the higher mounts to pull down an M&Pc Compact. “I used it in academy, and it takes the same ammo as our primaries.”

“Get the bigger magazine,” Puck says, still speaking quietly as the anxiety continues to rise. Kurt nods, grabbing that as well. Puck picks up two of the rifles, then shuts the cabinet quickly before putting the rifles next to the elevator. The anxiety levels out, not significantly lowering, and Mercedes frowns as she stands by one of the work stations.

“How about I get a few pictures of handsome here, and then we send him back up to the vehicle while I make the IDs?” she suggests. 

“Good idea,” Puck says, nodding before he turns to Kurt. He can hear Mercedes telling Feels where to stand, and he hopes that will distract Feels for at least a moment or two. “I’ll go back up with him,” Puck says. “We’ll trade out the Jeep for a trailer.”

“Keep your eyes peeled,” Kurt says. “If you see anyone or anything you don’t like, come right back down this elevator.”

“Can’t I shoot first?” Puck mock-whines. 

“If you want to be on the receiving end of Finn’s panic, sure.”

Puck shrugs. “Bound to happen eventually, right? Better to take out a Hydra agent and then panic.” He leans in, kissing Kurt and then putting his lips beside Kurt’s ear. “Tell Mercedes we want to get out of Indiana soon.” 

“Will do,” Kurt says softly. “Be careful up there.”

“He’s all yours!” Mercedes sing-songs, smacking Feels on the ass as she pushes him back towards Puck. 

Puck winces at the mortification rolling off Feels, but he doesn’t say anything, just heads towards the elevator, letting Feels climb on first. As they start to travel up, Puck can hear Kurt asking Mercedes, “Do you _enjoy_ feeling that uncomfortable?”

Mercedes laughs. “Have you taken a look at that thing? It was worth it.”

Puck winces again at the second wave of mortification, and he shakes his head a little in an attempt to clear it as they reach the surface. “Do you want to unhook the Jeep trailer or grab our new one?”

“I’ll unhook,” Feels says. “You probably know what to keep an eye out for better than me.”

“If you get it unhooked before I get back, start unloading,” Puck says with a nod, heading down the row towards the end where he saw two trailers parked. One is larger but more rusted, and they don’t really have that much to load into the trailer, so he experimentally tries to tug the smaller one forward. There’s nothing in it, as far as Puck can tell, so he breaks the lock before jogging back towards Feels. “Drive it down to the black trailer.” 

“Okay,” Feels says, getting into the truck and starting the engine.

Puck jogs beside the truck, directing Feels as he backs it up to the trailer, and Puck quickly attaches the new trailer before motioning for Feels to return to Jeep and its trailer. The two of them load the new trailer before Puck drives the Jeep and parks it in place of the black trailer, leaving the Jeep’s trailer where Feels unhooked it. 

“You can be the non-observant brother,” Puck offers with a slight laugh. 

“I guess I’d have to be,” Feel says. “Sorry about that.”

“I mean, if you _want_ to keep kosher, I’m not going to stop you,” Puck says. “But most people balk about bacon or shrimp, one of the two if not both.”

“I think I’m a little more wed to the bacon.”

“Can’t marry it,” Puck says, jumping a little and looking around before he realizes the loud bang was a truck backfiring. “Let’s go ahead and get in. I’ll drive and Kurt can just jump in.” 

Feels nods and get into the passenger side of the truck. Puck likes to think he’s gotten pretty good at reading which emotions are Feels’ and which are his own, and he doesn’t know if it’s the fact that Hydra found them once, the fact that Kurt is _also_ an asset (and _the_ asset), or just Puck’s own brain telling him to be alert, but he drums his fingers on the wheel as he waits, wishing Mercedes could work faster. 

Another ten minutes pass before Mercedes and Kurt walk out of the storage unit. Kurt has a rifle strap slung over one, the rifle bouncing against his side as he walks, his hands clutching a thick packet of papers. Puck rolls down the window and lifts his arm as he looks at Mercedes. 

“Stay alive,” he says to her. 

“I’d be a little more concerned about yourself, and less concerned about me,” Mercedes says. “Nice to meet you, Kurt, Handsome.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Puck says. “So little faith in me. We’ll see you.” He nods towards the passenger seat. “Let’s get going,” he says to Kurt, trying to communicate the urgency he’s feeling without Feels picking up on it too much. 

“I’ll talk you through our new paperwork as we go,” Kurt says, walking around and getting into the truck after Feels slides into the middle seat.

Puck waits just until the door is shut, then heads back to the cross streets, turning west parallel to the interstate. “How dumb did she make me?” Puck says, trying to sound light-hearted. 

“We’re all average within a believable range,” Kurt replies. “High enough for jobs, low enough to avoid closer scrutiny.”

“Illinois teaching licenses?”

“Yes, and Finn is also National Board Certified,” Kurt says. “Whereas your degree was in languages, not teaching, and you went for a teacher’s license after the fact.”

“I _am_ National Board Certified,” Feels says.

“Well, now you’re certified twice,” Kurt says.

“Good to know,” Puck says, slowing a little as they approach the intersection to US–41, and he gets in the righthand lane with an eye on the rearview mirror. “Kurt, does that small navy pickup look a little too plain for the occupants to you?”

“Now that I’m looking at it, yes,” Kurt says. “I was about to tell you about the black sedan with government plates that’s immediately behind it.”

“Great.” Puck stops at the red light, scanning the road and putting on his right turn signal. “Let them think I spotted them and then changed direction,” he mutters, turning the wheel towards the right as they start to move, then jerking it back to go straight. “You think there’s any chance we get away without a fight?”

Kurt turns away from the sideview mirror to look out the truck’s back window, then looks back at the mirror. “Almost certainly not.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think so, either,” Puck admits. “Rifle loaded?”

Kurt nods, Feels says, “Oh shit!” and Puck feels like he’s being bludgeoned with Feels’ distress.

As they pass a crowded Dollar General, Puck speeds up, even though it’s hard to drive and concentrate on the two vehicles pursuing them, given how upset Feels clearly is. “Deep breaths?” Puck tosses out through gritted teeth. 

“Finn,” Kurt says to Feels in what’s probably supposed to be a soothing voice, though it’s also heavily tinged with anxiety. “Please try to stay calm.”

Puck can’t tell if it really makes any difference, primarily because his own anxiety is rising sharply as he drives. The truck and car speed up, and both vehicles have their windows down for a few seconds before Puck realizes what he’s seeing. 

“Duck!” he yells, swerving the truck as he hears shots firing. 

“Shit!” Feels shouts. He flings himself over Kurt so quickly that Puck wonders for a few seconds if he actually got shot, but Feels seems to be fine when Puck glances over him. 

“What are you doing?” Kurt shrieks at Feels, trying to shove him off. “Get _down_. We’re supposed to be protecting you!”

“ _Both_ of you get down!” Puck says as the two Hydra vehicles shoot again, and Puck decides to take the next turn. They’re passing a cemetery, and Puck figures that they might at least find a defensible stand of trees, or an office of some kind. The truck is more out of control than Puck expects on the turn, and he realizes he probably needs to self-evaluate after having that many bullets fired at them. Once the truck is more or less straightened out on the side road, he winces and tries to flex his left arm experimentally. He doesn’t say anything, but his left arm definitely has a bullet in it, probably from the second volley, and he doesn’t know how that will impact his shooting once they do stop. 

“Do we have a plan?” Kurt asks, still sounding frantic. 

“Survive?” Puck says, more tentatively than he intends, and as they speed down the side road looking for an entrance to the cemetery, he does see two trailer-like office buildings inside the fence. He takes another righthand turn, slower than he’d like, and finally spots the driveway. “Here we go. Heading for those trailers. Shoot to kill and disfigure.” 

“We should have gotten Finn a vest,” Kurt says, readying his weapon as Puck turns up the driveway. 

“We were overly optimistic,” Puck says, driving as fast as he dares, considering the trailer, the state of the road, and the bullet lodged in his left arm. He slams on the brakes near the offices while the Hydra vehicles are still out of sight, though he can hear them. “Around the back so we have some cover.” He jumps out, picking up the second rifle and trying to ignore the pain in his arm as they head towards the closest side of the buildings. 

“You’re bleeding,” Feels says, turning to Kurt as they hurry to the buildings. “He’s bleeding.”

“Puck?” Kurt asks.

“It’s just my arm. Just kill the Nazi fuckers and we’ll worry about my arm after that,” Puck says. 

They continue around to the back of the building, facing the fence and the road beyond it, and Puck leans against the building, peering around as he can hear tires squealing. 

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” Feels mumbles.

“I noticed,” Puck mutters, and when he glances at Kurt, Kurt looks slightly woozy, too. “I’m buying Dramamine after this,” he announces, then looks around the corner just long enough to aim the rifle and start firing as the Hydra agents get out of their vehicles. 

Kurt starts firing his rifle in the direction of the Hydra agents, missing them by several feet each time. “Sorry!”

“Aim first or switch!” Puck says, shaking his head and managing to hit one of the Hydra agents in the chest. As the Hydra agent falls, Puck can hear the door to one of the trailers open and a loud voice asking what’s going on. 

“I’m an Illinois State Representative!” one of the Hydra agents says, and Puck snorts, switching to aim at his head. Five shots later, the Illinois State Representative is dead, and Puck sighs. “One down, four to go.” 

Kurt drops his rifle, grabbing his piece from its holster. This time, when he fires, one round goes through one of the Hydra agents’ shoulders, another through his lower abdomen. Puck gets two shots through another agent’s arm before he has to drop the rifle, his left arm aching. There’s a flurry of shots from the two of them, the Hydra agents firing back until all five are at least on the ground, and Puck straightens from his slightly crouched position. 

“Let’s go finish them,” he says. “Feels, can you _please_ carry the rifles?”

Feels nods without arguing, and the only emotion Puck registers as originating from Feels is numb shock. Puck heads towards the five Hydra agents, going first to the Illinois State Representative and shooting him in the head another time, muttering to himself about elected officials as he does so. He can hear Kurt dispatching another agent, and then they check to confirm the other three are either dead or very close to dying. Puck kicks one as they head back to the truck. 

“Cemetery guy won’t say anything except about the elected guy,” Puck says, climbing into the passenger side. “Kurt, get us into Illinois and stop at the first drugstore.” 

Kurt nods, and quickly gets into the drivers seat, pointing them out of the cemetery and back onto the main road. “How bad is it?” he asks.

“Oh god, there’s blood everywhere,” Feels says, and once again, Puck doesn’t feel anything from Feels but shock. 

“I’m not dying,” Puck insists. “Just hurts.” He leans his head back and doesn’t register much until the truck stops. When Puck opens his eyes, they’re parked at a Walgreens, a McDonald’s beside it. 

“Finn, please search ‘how to remove bullet’ and then hand me your phone,” Kurt says.

“Go get some coffee,” Puck says. “We can visualize McDonald's from here.” 

“Kurt?”

“Yes, Finn, that’s probably the best plan,” Kurt says. “I need to be calm at the moment.”

“I’ll get you a coffee,” Finn says. Kurt gets out of the truck so Finn can get out, too, then slides back in. 

“Okay, I should be able to find the supplies here,” Kurt says, looking at the phone, not at Puck’s arm. “I’ll read through this and then I’ll get the bullet out.”

“Make sure you’re ready to draw if you go into the Walgreens,” Puck says, forcing himself to concentrate through the pain. “They could have a secondary team waiting for us.”

“I’ll worry about that. You focus on not passing out,” Kurt says, moving back towards the door. “I’m going in for supplies. I’ll be right back. Keep pressure on that.”

“I mean it!” Puck says. “They could come after you.” 

“Watch the McDonald’s, then,” Kurt says, shutting the truck door before Puck can say anything else. 

“That’s not— they don’t want Feels!” Puck yells ineffectually. He slumps back against the seat, holding pressure on his arm while he waits nervously for Kurt to come back. When he sees Kurt emerge from the Walgreens, he sighs in relief, watching Kurt walk across the parking lot. 

Kurt opens the truck door, setting a bag on the seat next to Puck before climbing in.

“They’re not after Feels!” Puck blurts out. 

“We can talk about Finn after I get this bullet out,” Kurt says. “Now, there’s really no way to properly sterilize anything. We’ll need to get you on some antibiotics as soon as we can.”

“ _Listen_. You can’t go off like that. It’s you. Not Feels. We fucked that up.”

“I think you’re in shock,” Kurt mutters, more to himself than to Puck. He pulls out a bottle of isopropyl alcohol and a package containing a long pair of tweezers. He opens the package and dips the tweezers into the alcohol. 

“I never read your file,” Puck says, steeling himself and closing his eyes.

“Shh. We’ll worry about that after the bullet’s out.” 

“I’m trying _not_ to think about that,” Puck says, eyes still closed. “Just get it over with.”

“I’ll be as gentle as I can,” Kurt says. He takes a deep, loud breath, then he pours some of the alcohol over the entrance wound. 

“Fuck,” Puck hisses, clenching his teeth as his arm stings. Kurt works quickly after that, but it’s still someone digging around in his arm with metal to remove another piece of metal, and Puck grips the door tightly with his right hand, trying not to scream.

“I think I feel the bullet,” Kurt says. “I just need to get it with the tweezers.”

Puck nods without otherwise moving. “Just do it.” 

There’s what feels like extraordinarily sharp jabbing before some wiggling that makes Feels’ earlier wooziness like a cakewalk, and Puck grits his teeth and tries not to move. 

“Got it,” Kurt says, then, “Oh _fuck_!” He immediately presses his hand over the bullet wound. 

“What is it?” Puck asks. “Is it two pieces?”

“Just— fuck, okay, uh. Don’t move.” Kurt rustles around in the plastic bag, moves his hand briefly off Puck’s arm, then presses down again harder. “I’ve got some gauze on it now.”

“Wasn’t going anywhere,” Puck says. “Did you buy ibuprofen or something?”

“I did. I got the children’s kind, because I thought you might have an easier time swallowing it.” Kurt rustles in the bag again, the nudges Puck’s leg with the box. “I really need to keep pressure on this right now.”

Puck takes a deep breath before opening his eyes and taking the box. “That’s all mine?” he asks with a wince, looking at the blood in the truck. 

“I think it probably looks like more than it actually is,” Kurt says.

“Good thing, or I’d be passed out right now.” Puck holds the box between his legs and slowly opens the children’s ibuprofen before looking at the label. “So, about half of it,” he says, opening the bottle and drinking half. “I mean it. It’s not Feels.”

“Yes, you mentioned that,” Kurt says. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“ _Protect_ the asset. Not find. Not figure it out. You’re the asset.”

Kurt makes a dismissive sound. “That’s ridiculous. I think this is definitely shock. I’ll run over to the McDonalds and get you something cold to drink.”

“ _No_ ,” Puck says forcefully. “Think about it. Who did they go for on the other side of Gary? Not Feels.” 

“They probably didn’t have a photograph, and assumed the larger two men were the agents.”

“I never read your file,” Puck says, “but I bet there’s a photograph in it, and Hydra was all in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s files.”

“I don’t have any powers or unusual training,” Kurt protests. “I’m good at what I do, sure, but so are a lot of other people. I’m not like Finn. I just process the data.”

“Very, very quickly, and I think with some connections not everyone sees, Kurt,” Puck says. “I don’t _like_ it, but it makes sense.”

“I have a good memory. That doesn’t make me the Hulk!”

Puck laughs, then winces when the movement makes his arm start to throb again. “If I promise not to make up a nickname, will you believe me?”

“No!” Kurt says. “But don’t make up a nickname.”

“What does your file say? Maybe it has a good nickname in it already, and you’re holding out on me,” Puck says. 

“I don’t know what my files say. Why would I read my own file?” Kurt asks.

“You never read your own file?” Puck grins slowly. “So you don’t have any proof for your position. I’m telling you, Kurt, you’re the asset.” 

“You realize I’m the one keeping pressure on your previously-spurting bullet wound,” Kurt says.

“I never pegged you for cruelty because you didn’t like something someone was saying,” Puck says. “I’m serious. It’s you. Luckily for all of us, you’re also an agent.” 

“Please don’t tell me we destroyed Finn Hudson’s life because we misunderstood our orders.”

Puck winces. “Yeah, I think that’s all on me.”

“We both took it to mean one of the assets from the files,” Kurt says.

“Yeah. We did. But if I think about my previous orders, and if we assume the Cavalry was trusted by Fury…” Puck trails off. “Orders to me, to protect you. I still think it’s good we left.”

“Well, we can’t take him back now. I’m sure he’s been ID’d by this point.”

“Which is why there’s no pressing need to tell him anything other than something about how all three of us are in danger now, blah blah blah,” Puck says, leaning his head against the window. “Right?”

“Right,” Kurt answers, sounding more tentative than certain. 

“Just have to keep you both safe,” Puck mumbles, mostly to himself. “Feels back? We should drive.”

“He’s walking back this way now,” Kurt says. “I just hope the blood doesn’t make him faint.”

“Maybe he got some napkins?”

“I’m sure fast food napkins will do the trick.”

Puck tries to chuckle, moving gingerly more to the side. “It’s the effort that counts, right?”

“Slide into the middle. Finn can take the passenger seat,” Kurt says. He waves Finn around to the other side of the truck.

“You sure?” Puck says. “Why?”

“Because I said that’s what’s happening,” Kurt says. Finn opens the passenger door, his eyes widening, and Kurt grips the steering wheel tightly, looking pale. “Please don’t vomit in the truck, Finn.”

“Sorry. I just need a minute,” Finn says. “Blood, you know?” Puck frowns a little, thinking about the fact that he’s still not really feeling anything from Feels, then mentally shrugs, because at least he doesn’t feel like _he_ needs to throw up. 

“Just hand me some napkins and I’ll wipe it up as much as I can,” Kurt says. “We need to go.”

Finn nods and hands a couple of napkins across Puck to Kurt, who wipes up the seat and Puck’s arm as much as possible with only a few McDonalds napkins. Once he’s done, he puts the napkins into the ibuprofen box, tosses that into the plastic bag from the Walgreens, and drops it into the floorboard. 

“Can you buckle yourself?” Kurt asks Puck.

Puck frowns and reaches for the belt, pulling it most of the way across before he shakes his head. “I _could_ , if you weren’t here, but it’s probably better I don’t.”

“Okay,” Kurt says, taking the belt and clicking it in. “Continue on the same route?”

“It’ll turn into US–6. Yeah.” Puck leans his head back again. “Then I–294 to I–57 North into the city.” 

“Good. Now take a nap, and I’ll wake you when we make a stop,” Kurt says.

Puck snorts, but he doesn’t argue, closing his eyes and listening briefly to the sound of Kurt taking a coffee cup from Feels before he drifts off. 

 

**[Agent K. Hummel, S.H.I.E.L.D., Mobile Operations, Report 7, 1400 Hours]**

_Agent Puckerman wounded in arm during second encounter with Hydra. Bullet removed and Agent Hummel will be on alert for infection. Did not actually wake him at first stop. Needs rest more than a bathroom break._

_Also, Agent Hummel takes exception to poor communication method from Agent May. Could have been more obtuse, but would have taken exceptional effort. Agent Hummel is NOT pleased about this asset situation. Hopes S.H.I.E.L.D. will financially compensate Mr. Hudson for this clusterfuck._

**[End Journal Entry]**


	12. Chapter 12

When Puck opens his eyes again, the truck is parked in front of a building that Puck vaguely recognizes from his years of running every conceivable route in the streets around DePaul. The truck cab is quiet, and he squints at the building. 

“Hotel?” Puck asks. “We’re near DePaul, right?”

“We are,” Kurt says. “How are you feeling?”

"Like I got shot," Puck says, managing a slight grin. "Are we holing up for the night here?" He glances up at the building again, cataloging it. “Fancier than our Super 8 lifestyle.”

“I still really think you need antibiotics,” Kurt says.

“Find a doc-in-the-box that’ll agree you have ‘strep throat’?” Puck suggests, making an air quote with only his right hand. “Or find a doctor in private practice with a nice Jewish last name. Maybe a nice Communist Jewish doctor who has Roma relatives.” 

“I would like the wound looked at, too,” Kurt says, frowning at Puck’s arm. “Make sure it’s cleaned out, maybe even get it stitched. The bullet’s out, and while it’s obviously a bullet _wound_ , maybe we could get in and out of an E.R. without anyone thinking they need to inquire further.”

“Will I live until tomorrow?” Puck asks. “I’d really like the three of us to stop moving for a good twelve hours or so.” 

“There’s a window on stitches, though.” Kurt frowns again.

“Maybe you can clean it up really good in the room,” Feels suggests, and whatever was keeping Puck from feeling Feels’ ‘feels’ has apparently worn off, because now he can pick up on Feels’ exhaustion, worry, and lingering adrenaline. It’s weirdly comforting to Puck, since the absence of it had clearly indicated something was wrong with _Puck_. 

“Yeah, let’s at least get me in the room?” Puck says. “Maybe order some room service.”

“Yes, we can get you to the room first,” Kurt says. “We’ll figure food out then. Finn, can you help support him?”

“Uh, Kurt, I don’t walk on my hands,” Puck says wryly. 

“I know how much blood you lost,” Kurt points out.

“I can still walk,” Puck insists, waving Feels off as he climbs out the passenger side of the truck. He does almost immediately feel lightheaded, swaying a little, and he catches himself on the truck, hoping neither Feels nor Kurt noticed. 

“Here,” Feels says, proffering his elbow. “If you pass out, that’s not helping anybody.”

Puck scowls but leans on Feels as they walk down the covered breezeway towards the hotel. “I bet they cancelled our government health insurance policies, too.” 

“I’m sure they’re good to the end of the month,” Kurt says.

“Yeah, but I actually liked getting my teeth cleaned every six months,” Puck says. They go inside the hotel and directly to the elevator, and Puck hopes no one notices that his arm is hurt, period. “Man, I’m not even thirty and I’m boring already.” 

“I promise I won’t tell anyone,” Kurt says. “We’ll figure out dental.”

“Someone probably put it in my file anyway,” Puck grumbles as they ride up the elevator. “And now everyone can read our files. I should read yours, finally.” 

“Fine, you can read my file while I go get you something to eat,” Kurt says.

“With Feels watching your back.”

“ _Fine_ ,” Kurt says, leading them to a room and swiping a keycard. “With Feels watching my back, while _you_ take another nap, Agent Grumpy.”

Puck scowls. “If I’m Agent Grumpy, you’re Agent Bashful or something.”

“Yeah, he is pretty grumpy,” Feels says. “Maybe they’ve got a vending machine in the lobby or something for until we get some dinner.”

“You’d be grumpy too, if you’d been shot,” Puck points out. 

“Bed,” Kurt says. 

“I’m not taking a nap,” Puck says, but he sits down on the bed, leaning against the pillows and pulling his pack towards him. Kurt and Feels leave the room a few moments later, and Puck gets back up to lock the bolt and chain lock. He can defend a hotel room easier than a truck, and he unplugs everything he can before going to the window and examining the area. 

His arm starts to throb after that, so he does sit back down on the bed, propping it up with pillows and putting his primary piece next to his right hand as he connects the little netbook to the hotel’s free WiFi. 

While the netbook finds the S.H.I.E.L.D. files, Puck jumps a few times at noises that he realizes are just other hotel guests or housekeeping, and he realizes part of his jumpiness is being alone for so long, by design. While he and Kurt were often in different rooms at the Shoebox, they were still in the same building, and that’s more or less held true since, with the exception of a few moments of the Walmart shopping trip. With both Feels and Kurt out of the room and out of his sight, Puck feels strangely jumpy. 

“It’s probably good that I’m going to end up working at the same place as Feels,” he says out loud, but that makes him frown a little, too, and he makes a mental note to tell Kurt to choose from what will probably be multiple job offers based on where Puck and Feels end up. Maybe there’s an area where Kurt can work next door to a school or something. 

Puck finds Kurt’s file finally and starts to skim him, snorting and shaking his head slowly when he realizes that the answers were in Kurt’s file all along. Probably the Cavalry expected him to read Kurt’s file, Puck figures, or at least to reciprocate once he learned Kurt had read his. Unfortunately for her plans, the two of them, and especially Feels, they were already out of the Shoebox before Puck and Kurt really conversed. 

There’s nothing else particularly interesting near the beginning of the file, and Puck puts the netbook to the side, repositioning himself to look out the window while he waits for Feels and Kurt to return. He doesn’t want to turn on the TV, so he rummages through his pack until he finds the sudoku book, absently doing a few of the puzzles as he waits. 

By the time he hears recognizable footfalls in the hallway, Puck is jumpy, and it’s almost a relief to go unlock the bolt and chain lock before going back to the bed as Kurt swipes the keycard. 

“What’d you get me?” Puck asks cheerfully, or at least he hopes it’s moderately cheerful and not desperate sounding. 

“Steak, medium rare, side of broccoli,” Kurt says. “Not cooked in butter.”

Puck grins and swings his legs to the side, so he can face the table. “Awesome,” Puck says. “Is this real meat? Or more S.H.I.E.L.D. meat?”

“It came from a real steakhouse about eight minutes ago,” Kurt assures him.

“Oh, good,” Puck says, opening up the container and taking a bite of the broccoli first. “See anything?”

“Nothing overtly hostile,” Kurt says. “I thought we were being followed for half a block. Black male, early 30s, approximately five-foot-ten to five-foot-eleven. It was hard to tell at the distance. He seemed interested, but he peeled off a few blocks before the hotel.”

“Anything else distinctive about him?” Puck asks. 

“Professional walk. Your kind of professional.”

Puck frowns. “Former agent, maybe. Any scars or anything visible from that distance?”

“Attractive, one-eighty-five, maybe one-ninety, moved like somebody in good physical condition,” Kurt says, and his tone changes into what Puck now realizes he should have recognized as something beyond the ordinary. “Symmetrical face, neatly groomed facial hair, slightly narrow shoulders for his build.”

“Attractive, huh?” Puck says, cutting off a piece of the steak. “You know, you keep making sure to note who’s attractive. Are you trying to replace me or push me off onto someone else?”

Kurt makes a dismissive sound. “It imparts a lot of information quickly without wasting time on details you don’t need to make the assessment of whether or not you know him. Attractive, average-looking, unattractive: they’re place-holders.”

“Uh-huh,” Puck says as he chews. “Excuses, excuses. Are you still determined to get me sewn up and dosed?”

“Now that you’ve rested, I’m determined to get you to finish this meal, and then I’ll take another look at the wound and make a decision.”

“I’m eating, I’m eating,” Puck says. “Since I can’t use it anyway, you might as well go ahead and look at it. I don’t want us out late if you insist on going tonight.” 

Kurt nods and sits down next to Puck. “Finn, you might want to step into the bathroom if this is going to bother you,” he says. “I’d like Puck to be able to finish his meal.”

Puck stops chewing for a moment as he feels a small amount of nausea pass through him, and Feels nods rapidly, immediately walking towards the bathroom. Kurt waits until the bathroom door shuts to untape the gauze pad from Puck’s arm.

“Hmm,” Kurt says, frowning down at the wound.

“Hmm?” Puck repeats. “What’s ‘hmm’?”

“I really think this needs stitches, but I’ll let you make the final call on that,” Kurt says. “I think you’ll get the use of your arm back a little faster if that gaping hole can be helped along. Either way, I want you on antibiotics by tomorrow morning. It’s already looking redder than I had hoped.”

Puck frowns, chewing on more broccoli. “How far away from the hotel did you see the potential tail?”

“Three blocks.”

“Can we afford a taxi to wherever you want me to go?”

“Yes, it’s not far,” Kurt says. “Do you want me to wait to clean this again until after you’ve eaten, or do you want the distraction?”

“If we go tonight, we should stay in late in the morning, then go out for an hour or two, acting like we’re going to a tourist destination,” Puck says. “Are you still going to clean it if I let you drag me in to a hospital or wherever?”

“Yes. The better tended-to it looks, the less likely the are to assume you acquired it under particularly illicit circumstances,” Kurt says.

“Your file so far didn’t mention that you were a sadist,” Puck says. “You really should have mentioned that sooner.” He nods towards his arm as he eats more steak. “Go ahead.”

“You haven’t finished my file yet?” Kurt asks, getting the bottle of rubbing alcohol and pouring some of it onto a fresh piece of gauze. He carefully wipes the wound with the gauze. Puck winces as he chews, because no matter how careful Kurt is being, it still hurts a whole lot. 

“Ow, dammit,” Puck says, staring determinedly at his steak. “And no, I got restless after the first four pages. It _is_ in your file, before you ask.”

“Oh?” Kurt sounds like he’s _intending_ to sound nonchalant, but he doesn’t really manage it.

“Yeah. You should look later.” Puck looks towards the bathroom, where Feels is either ignoring them or getting confused. “Just so you have the information.”

“After the hospital.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Puck sighs and spears the last piece of broccoli. “Find my grey sweatshirt for me while I finish my steak? Then we’ll get it over with.”

“Bring Finn or leave him here?” Kurt asks, taping another gauze pad over the bullet wound before he reaches for Puck’s bag. 

Puck frowns. “He’s probably not in any danger here, comparatively, and he wouldn’t be on the security cameras at the hospital. Did he bring that ax in? He could lock himself in and read.”

“I think the ax is still in the truck. I could get it.”

“Do that while I get this sweatshirt on,” Puck says decisively. “The more we can keep him out of view, the better.” 

“Be right back,” Kurt says. He heads for the door, slipping out and closing it quietly behind him. As soon as the door shuts, Feels pops his head out of the bathroom.

“All clear?” 

“Yeah,” Puck says. “We’re going to let you stay here and read while Kurt satisfies his need to have me sewn.”

“Okay. Cool. I have a new spy novel packed in my bag,” Feels says, then Puck has a wash of mild embarrassment flood over him. “Which, I guess it’s not so exciting now, with everything.”

“Maybe start reading romances?” Puck suggests jokingly. He struggles with the sweatshirt, but gets it on enough that no one should be able to tell he’s walking around with a bullet wound in his arm. “Or those true-life survival stories about hurricanes and blizzards.”

“Yeah, maybe so.”

Puck shrugs and carefully stands up, feeling less woozy than before, and he slowly walks towards the door, almost reaching it as Kurt returns with the ax. “If anyone bothers you, chop them up,” Puck says. “Or at least maim them.”

“Uh. Yeah, I don’t think I’m gonna do that, but thanks for the vote of confidence,” Feels says. 

“Ready?” Kurt asks.

“Let’s get it over with,” Puck agrees, walking slowly into the hall, where they wait to hear Feels lock the bolt before continuing. “Did you get the front desk to call a taxi?”

“Yes. It should be waiting out front.”

Puck nods and leans on Kurt a little more than he’d like as they head out of the hotel to the waiting taxi. Kurt tells the driver where to go, and Puck leans against the door, one hand still curled around Kurt’s arm. The drive is short, and Kurt slides out first before coming around to Puck’s side of the taxi and leaning in to pay. Puck lets Kurt lead the way towards a door clearly marked ‘Emergency’, and he sighs a little as they sign in and sit down. 

Puck figures that they wait for about twenty minutes, watching MSNBC and CNN at the two ends of the waiting room, both networks spending plenty of time discussing Hydra’s infiltration at the highest levels of government and especially within S.H.I.E.L.D. 

“Rub it in,” Puck mutters just as a nurse calls his fake name back to triage. Puck winces when she tries to take his blood pressure on his left arm, gesturing to his right arm before lying back. 

“So what is the nature of the injury?” she asks briskly, and Puck looks at Kurt. 

“He can explain it,” Puck says, because he isn’t sure what explanation Kurt had thought up.

“We’re both S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. He sustained a bullet wound during an altercation with Hydra,” Kurt says.

“Yeah, right,” the nurse says disbelievingly. “What really happened?”

Kurt smiles and shakes his head. “Okay. You caught me! I didn’t want to embarrass my boyfriend by telling you that he was trying to put his handgun away without properly checking that it was unloaded and had the safety on. The bullet ricocheted off a metal beam in our loft and hit him in the arm.” He sighs dramatically. “There may have been alcohol involved.”

“Hey!” Puck protests, glaring at Kurt. “ _That’s_ what you’re going to tell people?”

“Well, we _were_ supposed to be kicking off our romantic long weekend in Chicago with a Bulls game, but instead, we’re here in the E.R., because his incompetent primary care physician felt that removing the bullet was treatment enough,” Kurt says, beaming even more brightly in Puck’s direction. 

Puck scowls to go along with his glare, shaking his head and then leaning back on the bed again. “Reading the rest of that,” he sing-songs under his breath as the nurse takes the rest of his vitals. 

“He’s lucky you didn’t become septic or something terrible like that,” Kurt says. “You could have lost your arm!”

“When was the injury sustained?” the nurse asks, making notes about whatever numbers Puck has. 

“It was around three,” Puck says.

“Days ago,” Kurt quickly adds. “He’s been picking at it. It had started to scab, but now it’s all bloody and gross and horrible again!”

Puck sighs and doesn’t argue as the nurse peels off Kurt’s bandage, measures the wound, and then slaps a new piece of gauze over it. Puck is pretty sure she’s intentionally rough due to his purported idiocy, but he doesn’t say anything, just lets her direct him into a wheelchair which gets pushed back to a different room. 

“Someone will be by to give you some pain relief and clean and irrigate the wound,” the nurse says. “It’ll be about an hour before a doctor can see you.” With that, she leaves, pulling a curtain closed half-heartedly, and Puck turns to glare at Kurt. 

“ _Shot myself_?” he asks incredulously. “That’s the best you could come up with? And a _Bulls_ game is romantic?”

“Of course it’s not romantic,” Kurt says.

“Mind telling me what on earth you were trying to accomplish?”

“Now she thinks we’re a pair of ridiculous, histrionic queens with some sort of pseudo masculinity fantasies about ourselves,” Kurt says. “Now we’ve been dismissed as not being anything substantive, and she’ll treat you and let us leave without any trouble. We’ll be a funny story to tell her co-workers, but that’s all she’ll remember about us.”

“Still,” Puck grumbles. “I would never shoot myself. And losing my arm?”

“Straight people can’t see through campiness, Puck. It’s like camo.”

Puck snorts out a laugh. “Was I campy enough for your plan, then?”

“Not really. I thought you’d play along better, but I suppose the injury might have prevented you from catching on as quickly as you otherwise would,” Kurt says.

“Usually people don’t believe my attempts at camp,” Puck says. “Not that they’ve been that frequent.”

“Maybe you should try focusing very hard on Judy Garland,” Kurt suggests.

“We were really more of a _Sound of Music_ family, not _Wizard of Oz_ ,” Puck says, more apologetically than he first intends. 

“Fine. Focus very hard on Julie Andrews.”

“Okay, okay,” Puck says, shaking his head as the promised pain relief arrives in the form of what looks like a teenage boy, but his white coat has a nametag assuring them he is an actual employee, and after Puck downs the pain reliever, the teenage-lookalike starts doing the promised cleaning and irrigating, which hurts a lot more than Kurt’s cleaning. Puck grabs Kurt’s hand with his right hand and squeezes it, gritting his teeth.

“Ow. Ow!” Kurt says. 

“I know, ow!” Puck says through his teeth. “He’s not gentle like you at least attempted to be!”

“Excuse me,” Kurt says loudly, even though the guy is right there, and his voice gets higher and higher pitched as he continues. “Shouldn’t you administer local anesthesia before you start doing that? Is this the kind of care people receive at this hospital?” 

The teenage-lookalike looks almost embarrassed for a few seconds before standing up and scuttling out of the room, returning with a hypodermic that is clearly some kind of numbing agent, because once he goes back to work, Puck can’t feel a thing around the bullet wound, and he relaxes his hold on Kurt’s hand. 

“Dessert,” he says. “We can still get dessert.”

“Yes, we can still get dessert,” Kurt says, patting the back of Puck’s hand with his free hand. “Is that better?”

“Definitely better,” Puck says, turning away from his arm to look at Kurt. The teenage-lookalike finishes more quickly than Puck expects, leaving without ever speaking a single word to either of them. “Talkative,” Puck says, shaking his head. “What do you think? Really an hour, or close to two?”

“Probably closer to two, but hopefully your pain medication will help you pass the time,” Kurt says.

“We could have some fun to pass the time,” Puck says, grinning. “See, I’m concentrating on Julie Andrews.”

“Oh, this is fun for you?”

“It’d be fun if you sat up here on the bed and we were ‘caught’ making out,” Puck says, his grin getting wider.

“Okay. That might actually be fun,” Kurt says, sitting on the bed next to Puck, still holding his hand. He leans in and gives Puck a gentle kiss. 

Puck kisses back, then laughs. “I almost lose an arm, and that’s all the passion you’ve got?”

“I’m afraid I might hurt you with my super powers,” Kurt counters, following it up with a firmer kiss that lingers. 

“Are you going to go all Hulk on me after all?” Puck asks, releasing Kurt’s hand so he can move his hand to Kurt’s back. “Smash me through the bed?”

“Who knows what untapped abilities I might have?” Kurt says. “I might smash you.”

“I wouldn’t object to some figurative smashing,” Puck says, running his hand down Kurt’s back and kissing him again. While Puck figures that their campy personas really would make out, it is a good distraction and just as much fun as he had thought. They keep making out for long enough that the doctor really does interrupt them. 

“Mr… Ginsburg?” a voice says, along with a knocking sound. 

“Oh!” Kurt says, winking at Puck before he puts on a ridiculously shocked face, turning towards the doctor, who is partially pulling back the curtain.

“Excuse me,” the doctor says, smiling tightly at Kurt and Puck. “Accidental gunshot wound?” 

“That’s me,” Puck says sourly, glancing at Kurt. 

“He’s not in danger of losing his arm is?” Kurt asks, his voice so high that it’s almost a squeal. 

“No, of course not, though some remedial classes in firearm safety sound like a good idea,” the doctor says briskly, coming over to Puck and examining the wound. “You definitely need some stitches, and a course of preventative antibiotics.” She loosely retapes the gauze, then looks at Kurt. “You’ll be able to help him change the dressings?”

“Oh, yes, of course I will!” Kurt says. 

“Twice a day, with fresh Neosporin for the first four days. The stitches should dissolve in one to two weeks, but once the wound has healed skin over it, the dressings won’t be necessary unless you just want one. Avoid swimming, hot tubs, and saunas for the next ten days.” She smiles the same tight smile. “Dr. Wilson will come back to put in the stitches.” 

With that, she leaves, and Puck frowns. “Does that mean the kid that looked barely eighteen is a _doctor_?”

“No, no, there is no way that _child_ is a doctor,” Kurt says. “And this is coming from _me_.”

“ _Doogie Howser Next Generation_ ,” Puck says, shaking his head. “Are you trying to tell me that our theoretical child’s intelligence is solely from you?”

“Intelligence and hair, yes.”

“What exactly am I contributing?” Puck asks. “And don’t say abs.”

“I was going to say an interesting range of professional skills,” Kurt says. “But also abs.”

“So the language abilities, all of that, is superseded by the abs?” Puck asks. “I guess I’m calling for a gym membership first thing tomorrow.” He starts to detail exactly what he can and can’t do with a bullet wound in his arm, but the supposed doctor returns, this time with local anesthetic and the kit for stitches. Puck grits his teeth through the one injection and the somewhat disembodied feel of tugging as the stitches go in, but he doesn’t have to squeeze Kurt’s hand in the same way. 

The supposed doctor finishes the stitches, applies Neosporin, and tapes on a bandage before silently handing care instructions to Kurt. “Are we done?” Puck asks, and the doctor nods before leaving the room, all without speaking. Puck shrugs and turns to Kurt. “Let’s get back to the hotel.” 

“Hopefully Finn hasn’t had to ax murder anyone in our absence,” Kurt says. “We’ll stop by the pharmacy in the morning for your antibiotics.”

“I figured the best we could hope for was Feels managing to ax murder a finger or a wrist,” Puck says. “As long as it was the wrist or finger with the gun in it, though, he’d manage.” Puck stands up carefully and follows Kurt out the confusing hallways. Luckily, though, there are three taxis in front of the hospital on standby, and it doesn’t take long before they get back to the hotel. Puck thinks for a moment that he sees movement across the street, but he doesn’t see anything else, and he is on some kind of pain reliever. 

No one in the hotel seems to notice them one way or the other, and the hallway outside their room is empty. Puck stands to the side of the door, hand on his piece, and he nods for Kurt to knock on the door. Kurt knocks, and the door opens, Feels looking and radiating ‘concerned’.

“Any trouble?” Puck asks quietly. 

“No, all quiet,” Feels says. “Things go okay at the hospital?”

“Yes, it’s fine. No trouble at all,” Kurt says.

“All patched up,” Puck agrees as they walk into the room and lock the door again. He strips off his sweatshirt carefully, then removes his pants and flops down onto the bed. “Wake me up for antibiotics?” he asks Kurt. 

“Yes,” Kurt says. “Get some sleep.”

**[Agent K. Hummel, S.H.I.E.L.D., Mobile Operations, Report 8, 2325 Hours]**

_We have arrived at our tentative destination. Agent Puckerman’s injury has been treated. Preparing to begin whatever ‘new life’ our covers will buy us. Should be interesting._

**[End Journal Entry]**


	13. Chapter 13

Puck can tell before he opens his eyes that it’s at least mid-morning, and he can equally tell that, unlike when he woke up in the middle of the night, Kurt is no longer in bed with him. Puck keeps his eyes closed and mentally catalogs how his body feels, including his left arm. He goes over the things they need to accomplish: deciding what part of the city to live in, finding a place to rent, starting to look for jobs, and keeping an eye out for Hydra. They can at least start looking for jobs and thinking about parts of the city right away, Puck thinks, and he did say he’d look for a gym to join.

That figured out, he listens to the rest of the room, trying to decide what woke him up, given that he clearly needed the sleep to heal. Deciding it’s probably the antibiotics, he carefully rolls onto his right side, then pushes himself to a sitting position as he blinks his eyes. “Time for antibiotics?” he asks as he turns towards the door, where he’s almost certain he heard Kurt. 

“Yes. There’s a pharmacy nearby,” Kurt says. “I brought you some breakfast.”

“More steak?” Puck asks hopefully. 

“Scrambled eggs, a bagel with cream cheese, and some fruit from the continental breakfast,” Kurt says. 

“That’ll do fine, too,” Puck says. “You and Feels already eat?”

“We did. You should, too, before we get the antibiotics.”

“Any sign of your tail from yesterday?” Puck asks as he reaches for the food and salts his scrambled eggs with a tiny salt packet. 

“No. I didn’t see him hiding behind the juice carafes,” Kurt says.

Puck takes a bite of his eggs, chewing slowly. “I was thinking under the tablecloth or behind the fake potted plants, actually.”

“He wasn’t there, nor did anyone else gives us so much as a second glance,” Kurt says. “It’s fine.”

“Pharmacy, gym, and maybe a coffeeshop to look through job listings and apartments for rent?” Puck lists off. “Then back here after a late lunch?”

“Sounds good, but if you start bleeding again or feel tired, we’ll take a break and come back here,” Kurt says. 

“If I start bleeding again, I’m going to go complain about Doogie Howser,” Puck says as he finishes the eggs and moves on to the fruit. “We should go to that coffee place a few blocks east of campus, if it’s still there. We’re not so old that we can’t blend in.” 

“No suits, then, I’m assuming?”

“I promise you can wear a suit as soon as you get a job interview,” Puck says with a grin as he reaches for his pack and finds a clean pair of pants. He pulls them on, then gestures to his vest. “Help me get that over my arm?”

“Just put your arms out as best you can,” Kurt says. “I’ll adjust it.” He picks up the vest and carefully drops it over Puck’s head, adjusting the velcro straps on the sides. “Comfortable?”

“Yeah,” Puck says, maneuvering a t-shirt over his head after strapping on his piece. He finishes getting dressed, then picks up the bagel as he looks over at Feels. “Ready?”

“I don’t have to bring the ax, do I?” Feels asks.

Puck shakes his head. “I think it’s better if you don’t, actually.”

“You can stay in the room if you prefer, but I do think it’s better if we all go,” Kurt says.

“I’ll go. It’s cool,” Feels says. “I was getting kind of cooped up in here last night, anyway.”

“Let’s go, then,” Puck says, taking a bite of the bagel as they leave the room, heading into the empty hallway. No one is on the elevator, either, and the only people in the lobby as they leave are two hotel workers, behind the front desk. Once they get outside, Puck turns to Kurt. “Are we walking or taking a taxi to the pharmacy?”

“Are you up for a walk?” Kurt asks, sounding dubious. The worry emanating from Feels is a little like when Nana used to fret over Puck or his sister, and Puck shakes his head slowly, fighting a grin. 

“I’ll need a taxi to the gym and the coffee place, probably, but we can walk to the pharmacy if it’s just a few blocks,” Puck answers. 

“It isn’t very far,” Kurt says. 

“Lead the way,” Puck says, but he does put his arm around Kurt as they walk. He scans the streets around them without noticing anyone that looks like the tail Kurt spotted, and no one else jumps out, either. When they get to the CVS, Puck sits down on a bench near the pharmacy, looking around the store. 

“We should get more protein bars while we’re here,” Puck says to Feels while Kurt goes to the pharmacy counter.

“Yeah, good call,” Feels says. “I’ll go get one of those baskets.”

“I’ll just keep sitting here,” Puck says wryly, watching Kurt walk back over from the counter. “How long of a wait?”

“Twenty to thirty,” Kurt says. “I’m going to get you an iron supplements, some probiotics, and ibuprofen that isn’t for children.”

“I’ve graduated,” Puck says jokingly. “Feels is getting more protein bars. Maybe get some trail mix, too.”

“Anything else?”

“We can get one of those apartments for rent papers when we leave here,” Puck says. “Maybe a first aid kit? I didn’t pack one of those.”

“Okay. You can listen for your name. Your new name,” Kurt says. He leans down and kisses Puck before walking up the aisle in the same direction as Feels. 

“It’s a good thing I kept the same first name,” Puck mutters to himself, watching the store in the large mirror in the corner and occasionally nodding at the pharmacy technicians. Eventually, they ask if he’s waiting for an antibiotic, and then inform him the pills are free, due to being a common antibiotic. Puck shrugs and slowly walks towards where he last spotted Kurt and Feels, stepping beside Kurt and dropping the pharmacy bag into the basket. 

“We can grab a bottled water?” Puck suggests. “Ready to find a gym?”

“You still sure you feel up to it?” Kurt asks. “We can go back to the room for a while.”

“I was sitting on a bench watching the two of you in a mirror, and next I’ll be sitting in a taxi,” Puck says. “I’ll be fine. We’re moving around without being in the same vehicle. It’s good.”

“I’m just worried about your injury,” Kurt says.

“I know.” Puck puts his arm around Kurt as they wait for the cashier, then check out. “But I’ll rest or something this afternoon, okay?”

“Okay,” Kurt says. “Let’s get a taxi. I’m sure we can find a gym, and hopefully some leads on an apartment.”

Puck picks up two of the apartment fliers, because even if the specific apartments are already rented, it will give them a good idea of what might be available. Once they get a taxi, Puck asks him to take them to the nearest branch of any gym that’s a national chain, and that results in the three of them being deposited in front of an L.A. Fitness. 

“We should be able to get some kind of discount, at least,” Puck says. “Family or something.”

“That would be nice,” Kurt says. 

Puck approaches the front desk, smiling at the worker but not too widely. “We’d like to get memberships,” he says. “My, uh, partner and my brother and me.” Until that moment, he hasn’t had to put a name to anything between he and Kurt, but after the split second that he considers ‘boyfriend’, he immediately rejects it. It’s too impermanent, and the one thing he and Kurt can’t afford to be is anything less than solid. He glances at Kurt and Feels as he finishes speaking, wondering how either of them feel in their relatively new roles. 

Feels seems be both nervous and excited, and Puck hopes that ‘excited’ wins out for the gym employee. It must, because she smiles hugely at all three of them. “Great! Would you like to take a tour? Let me take you on a tour.” She comes out from behind the desk, beckoning for them to follow her, and Puck shrugs, looking at Kurt with raised eyebrows. 

“Nobody can fault her enthusiasm,” Kurt whispers.

“This is going to become the most productive gym in Chicago, as long as Feels likes it,” Puck says quietly, watching the people working out before and after Feels passes. 

“And if you’ll just follow me, I’ll show you to the sauna and steam room areas!” the employee says, leading them down a hallway lined with racquetball courts. 

“I have a feeling that’s on my no-no list?” Puck asks Kurt. 

“No saunas,” Kurt agrees.

“Are you going to ever actually _show_ me the list, or just keep telling me what’s on it?” Puck asks, grinning a little. 

“Why would I even need to keep the list?” Kurt says. “What with my special ability and all.”

“Because you’re taking pity on poor ol’ regular me?” Puck says with a shrug as they stop in front of the steam room and let the employee tell them about it. 

“Can’t you just trust me to recall it with perfect accuracy?”

“I _could_ , but isn’t it good to have some…” Puck trails off as they head back down the hall with racquetball courts. “Kurt, is that your tail from last night?”

Kurt freezes in place next to Puck. “Yes. That’s him.”

The tail points at Feels, who is still walking behind the employee, and motions for him to keep walking, then he points in Puck and Kurt’s direction, then down at the floor in front of himself. The message, that he wants the two of them in front of him ASAP, is clear, but Puck shakes his head slowly, looking around. 

“Thanks,” he says abruptly to the employee. “We’ll meet you back at the front desk.” She looks startled but nods, leaving the hall, and Puck looks at the tail. “We stay together, or as much as we can, clearance-wise.” 

The tail looks dubious, shaking his head. “Look, I don’t even know who this third guy _is_ ,” he says. “You willing to compromise on sending him someplace of your choosing? We’ve definitely got some things to discuss that are way above his clearance level, if he has one.”

Puck pauses, then nods, turning to Feels. “Go check out the steam room for us, Feels,” he says quietly. 

“Are you sure?” Feels asks. The tail staggers slightly from the wave of suspicion and anxiety rolling off Feels.

“Oh shit, it’s _that_ guy?” the tail asks.

“Shut up,” Puck hisses at the tail, then nods at Feels. “You still anti-gun, Feels?” he whispers. “One of us can give you our backup.”

“No, I’m good. I’ll just go check out that steam room,” Feels says. He keeps his eyes on the tail as he walks backwards down the hall for a few paces, then he turns and walks towards the steam room, taking his anxiety cloud with him.

“Not that I’m doubting you’re a nice guy and everything,” Puck says, “and you don’t seem overly hostile, but how do we know you aren’t with _them_?”

“Because he’s with me,” a voice says from the racquetball court nearest the tail, and then the Cavalry appears, frowning. Puck nods, lowering his hand from where he unconsciously had it poised near his piece, and he put his arm around Kurt as they walk towards the racquetball court and enter it. 

“Yeah, what she said,” the tail says.

“So this is what we’re reduced to, now. L.A. Fitness,” Puck says, shaking his head. “Not that we’re unhappy to see you, but we were trying to blend in, Agent May.” 

“Agent May, like Agent _Melinda_ May?” Kurt whispers to Puck.

“Like the Cavalry,” Puck whispers back, nodding. 

“The two of you were exceedingly difficult to track down,” May says, looking angry about it. “That’s why we’re in an L.A. Fitness.” 

“Wasn’t ‘hard to track down’ the general idea?” Puck asks. “We had no idea we’d make contact with anyone this soon. Was there something else in that last communication, Kurt?” 

Kurt shakes his head. “You saw what I saw, and we followed those instructions to the best of our ability,” he says, dropping his voice to add, “vague though they might be.”

“Why do you have someone traveling with you?” May demands. 

“Neither of us knew Kurt was an asset,” Puck says flatly. “So we tried to figure out who ‘the asset’ was.”

“And that’s the guy you chose?” the tail, who is clearly another agent, asks. “ _That_ guy, out of all the files you had?”

“He seemed like the most versatile weapon, should Hydra get hold of him,” Kurt says, sounding defensive and his expression the early stages of the huffy face. “I ran all the numbers, and everything pointed to him.”

“Considering neither of us had read Kurt’s file, we did the best we could,” Puck says, torn between being defensive himself and trying to rile Kurt up just a little more. “By the time I realized, we’d already picked up Feels and been in a gunfight.” 

“Are you seriously calling him ‘Feels’?" the tail asks. “Agent May, tell me we don’t have to call him ‘Feels’.”

“Agent Triplett, we’ll deal with the other asset later,” May says, then turns back to Puck. “Why did it take you over three months to realize? Your assignments were carefully constructed by Director Fury himself so you would have the experience to recognize Kurt as an asset within days. Did we waste all of the time training you?” 

“Hey!” Puck says, glaring at May. “I _did_ recognize Kurt as an asset within days of actually interacting with him.”

“Explain,” May says brusquely. 

“Kurt was isolated from any outside contact for nearly three years before I arrived at the Shoebox, and he spent the entire time I was there avoiding me as much as possible,” Puck says. “Is that a fair assessment, Kurt?”

“Yes, that’s accurate,” Kurt says.

May looks like she’s torn between being confused and somewhat abashed, and she looks between the two of them for a moment. “The two of you didn’t interact until after leaving the Shoebox?”

“Apart from making our plans to leave, no,” Puck says. 

“To be fair, you were going out of your way to harass me,” Kurt says. “Refiling my files like that.”

“You were wound pretty tight, between not having any leave or sunlight for three years,” Puck says wryly. “And plus, you made the huffy face.”

“The lights in the Shoebox are designed to trigger vitamin D production. Sunlight really wasn’t necessary,” Kurt insists. 

“Admit it, you’re a lot happier out of there,” Puck says, grinning a little. “For lots of reasons.”

“Well of course I am, but that doesn’t in any way negate the properties of theno —”

“I said to protect the asset, Agent Puckerman, not seduce him!” May says, cutting Kurt off. 

“To be fair, I seduced him before I knew he was the asset, Agent May,” Puck says, trying not to grin too widely. Agent Triplett snickers, then quickly covers it with a cough when May gives him a hard look.

“Tickle in my throat,” Agent Triplett says. “Don’t mind me.”

May sighs, almost huffing, and Puck briefly thinks that May and Kurt would probably get along quite well. “But now you’ve uprooted a man from his life, and you, Agent Puckerman, are going to be responsible for both of them, without any formalized backup.” 

“I assumed no backup,” Puck admits. “And Kurt is an agent, with the appropriate training, even if he is also an asset. Something that he probably should have been told, I think.” 

“No, I was quite happy not knowing!” Kurt says.

“ _Someone_ should have been told, aside from Hydra,” Puck says firmly. “And he never should have been isolated for three years.”

“We can’t change the past,” May says brusquely. “Are you prepared for this? Because if you aren’t, you need to become prepared.”

“When you say without ‘formalized backup’, does that mean there’s still a loose organization?” Puck asks, looking from May to Agent Triplett. 

“We’re rebuilding the best we can,” Agent Triplett says. “That’s why we’re here. The new director wants us to have a face-to-face with as many agents as we can, to figure out who’s loyal and who’s turned.”

“New director?” Puck says. “Is it Hill?”

Agent Triplett and Agent May exchange a weird look. “Man, you really have been cut off from everything at the Shoebox, haven’t you?” Agent Triplett says.

“Now multiply that for Kurt here,” Puck says, folding his arms in front of him. “Who is it?”

“It’s Coulson,” May says after about twenty seconds pass. “His death was fictitious.”

“Huh.” Puck nods a little and looks at Kurt. “I wouldn’t mind some kind of communication system, so we could get important messages or warnings, but no, we didn’t think we’d have backup at all. Right?” He raises his eyebrows at Kurt questioningly. 

“Right. We thought we’d just have to make it work as best we could,” Kurt says. “Luckily, we’ve made at least one contact still loyal to S.H.I.E.L.D., and she gave us what we needed to get set up here in Chicago.”

“Let me guess,” Triplett says. “Jones?”

“How do you know Mercedes?” Puck asks. 

“She’s my cousin,” Triplett says. 

“Wait,” Puck says slowly. “Are _you_ little cousin Tony?”

“I wish she’d stop calling me that,” Triplett says. “I’m only eighteen months younger than she is, and I’ve been taller than her since I was twelve.”

“If she thought you actually liked it, she’d probably stop,” Puck says, grinning a little. “Luckily, our encounters with Hydra were before and after our stop with her. I don’t think they’ll associate her with us in any way.” 

“So you’ll be in the Chicago area?” May says. “You both realize that reestablishing a non-compromised agency is the work of months and years?”

“We know,” Puck says.

“We’re Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Kurt says. “This is what we do. Neither of us signed on for the light workload.”

May nods. “Okay.” She reaches into a bag, handing each of them a small phone that looks like a refugee from 2006, along with one netbook for the two of them. “Agent Hummel, you know how to establish a secure connection using this. Check it no more frequently than once a week, but don’t allow more than fifteen days to pass without checking it either. Urgent messages will be sent via the phones. Any questions?” Puck and Kurt both shake their heads, and May continues. “Good luck, agents.” She picks up the bag, nodding at Triplett, and leaves the racquetball court without looking back, Triplett behind her. 

Puck waits until the door closes, then turns to Kurt with a small grin. “You know what this means, right?”

“What?”

“We may not be able to ID ourselves, but our badges aren’t totally out of date,” Puck says, shaking his head a little. “Hydra didn’t completely take S.H.I.E.L.D. down.”

“So we’ll be working two full-time jobs?” Kurt asks.

Puck snorts. “Yeah, that’s the other way to look at it, I guess,” he admits, his arm still around Kurt as they leave the racquetball court and walk towards the steam room. “At least _I_ get the summers off on my second job.”

“Yes, but it sounded to me like Agent May put you in charge of our little operation, so I think my only real task there is sending the weekly report,” Kurt says. “Just don’t expect me to start calling you ‘boss’.”

“Not into that kind of roleplay?”

“Maybe the other way around.”

Puck laughs. “We should find that two bedroom apartment soon.”

“We should probably make sure Feels isn’t still at the sauna,” Kurt says. “Something tells me steam and his powers might a bad combination.”

“Okay, Feels first, apartment second,” Puck concedes, turning the corner towards the sauna and steamroom. Feels is standing outside them, in the hall, and Puck nods his head. “So, Feels, we’ve got some good news and some bad news.”

 

**[Agent K. Hummel, S.H.I.E.L.D. Site 4, Report 1A, 0800 Hours]**

_Covers holding. Residence and employment secured. Beginning proximity testing with asset ‘Feels’. Will report initial findings on next transmission. Please consider this a formal request for reassignment of Agent M. Jones to Site 4. Could use some assistance keeping Agent Puckerman in line._

**[End Transmission]**


End file.
